


Of Shadows on the Stars

by AstriferousSprite



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Bonding, Family Issues, Force Ghost(s), Force-Sensitive Finn, Gen, Jedi Finn, Jedi Rey, Kylo Ren Being a Little Shit, Loss of Limbs, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Finn, Rey Skywalker, Skywalker Family Drama, Stormtrooper Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 09:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13408287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstriferousSprite/pseuds/AstriferousSprite
Summary: After two years, the Resistance is rebuilding itself, and hope rises anew within the galaxy.Or: the Episode IX we all deserve.





	1. Go Forth and Have no Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, I've had these ideas floating around in my head for some time after watching The Last Jedi for the second time, and, well, it sort of spiraled into this, lmao.  
> Also, if JJ happens to be reading this, I give you full permission to plagiarize this work, wink wink nudge nudge

**_EPISODE IX_ **

_It is a period of uncertainty. Rey and Finn are on a quest to rediscover the origins of the first JEDI, determined to restore their teachings to the galaxy._

_But there is unrest. The departure of General Leia Organa has shaken the small RESISTANCE, now even more desperate for allies as the REPUBLIC struggles to put itself back together._

_They are not alone, however. For even within the ranks of the tyrannical FIRST ORDER, a small group of soldiers is plotting a daring escape…_

*****

 

The _Splinter_ is, to any outside observer, just another Star Destroyer.

Hell, even within the Order itself, its supposed grandeur and terror is nothing compared to how mundane it is: just another ship to waste one’s life on, stumbling from post to post. Tonight, however, the _Splinter_ ’s reputation is bound to change to that of danger, of thrill—of mutiny.

The helmet on HV-5608’s head somehow feels tighter as she marches through the sterile hallways, her boots clacking in loud unison with the rest of the squadrons behind her. No one bothers to pay them any mind, aside from a salute or two from fellow captains; after all, they might as well be just another patrol squad passing by. No chance of rebellion here.

08 gives Hangar 15A a cursory glance; it is already full of several soon-to-be-ex-TIE pilots scrambling into their fighters, while simple-clothed technicians walk around with buckets of red paint and stamp each friendly ship with a red handprint. That way, when (not if) the Order catches them, they’ll know at whom to shoot and whom to pass over.

Her own squadrons are headed for 15B—the hangar with the large, armored transports, perfect for carrying troopers into battle, or to the Resistance.

They stop marching.

This is when 08 turns to her squadrons. There’s a choice to be made here; while she loathes to let those helmets onto their free ships, it would be quite risky to reveal their bare faces to the command stations overseeing them.

And yet. They’ve gotten this far, haven’t they? Made unsanctioned marches, uncleared boardings, unapproved paint jobs. Sooner or later they’ll be caught—why not go out with a bang, disappear with a bit of dignity?

With a nod, she pulls off her helmet with a loud hiss, staring straight forward even as a few strands of short black hair fall onto her face. In unison, the hisses of everyone else’s helmets being released echoes around the hangar, and their unceremonious fall to the floor only adds to the subversive symphony. Everyone’s heart beats in unison; out of fear, but perhaps also out of determination.

They will be troopers no more.

 

“Sir.”

Hux struts over to where the officer sits, staring at the screen with a furrowed brow. “What is it, Officer?”

She tenses her jaw. “There’s been an unsanctioned departure from Hangars 15A and 15B.”

“What—” His fist trembles. “How can—that’s the _second time_ this week!”

The officer closes her eyes.

“Open fire on them _immediately!_ ” he spits out, pointing out the window. “And don’t let a _single_ fighter get away, _understood?_ ”

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Nix, how is it on your end?” asks 08 (she really needs a better name) through the headset in the cockpit as she hears the klaxons whining. “We need backup immediately.”

“We’re ready,” he says, voice staticky. “We’ve got you covered, Captain—let’s go.”

“Alright,” she says under her breath.

With that, their transport takes off, narrowly avoiding the barrage of blaster fire coming their way from unmarked TIE fighters—this time, the enemy. It’s a bit exciting, but a bit terrifying, as well—08 _knows_ the firing capabilities of those ships, and if Nix and his squadrons don’t get here on time…

“ _Nix._ ”

“We’re on it, we’re on it!” he yells. More shots echo both outside the viewports and in the background on his end. “Just give us a moment—”

A TIE fighter explodes right next to them.

Turning her head, 08 sees a flight of TIE fighters rolling next to them—this time, sealed with a red mark of trust. “Thank the Stars,” she whispers.

The battle continues. Their allies deal with the enemy fire as Nix and his copilot begins taking out the larger cannons that stand between them and a free life. 08 steers their ship away, knuckles unnaturally pale on the controls as she calculates the next safe jump to hyperspace, all determined on the timing of their escape. When they escape, that is, not if.

Because if there’s one thing she knows, it’s that not a single true stormtrooper will make it to the Resistance base tonight.

“All ships locked?” she asks, punching in the last few numbers. With the barrage of affirmatives flowing her way, she steels her jaw, and makes the last jump to freedom.

 

*****

 

“Concerning the nature of the Force…”

Rey bites her lips as she flips the page of the old book in front of her on the _Falcon_ ’s old Dejarik table. A lock of short hair falls into her eyes, which she bats away, making a mental note to trim it sometime this week. “Concerning the nature of the Force, there are many… er, _conflicted_ accounts on where and how its powers spring—no, _manifest_ themselves in different individuals.” She takes a break to jot down the translation in the datapad beside her. Old Nacian may be a hell of a language, but damn it, someone’s got to do the job. “Ok, different individuals… Master Satior postulates that…” She pauses, furrowing her brows. “Um, _la’wan feyle kuranta, eskidal mi—_ wait, _feyle,_ that sounds like—aha _!_ ” She grins, taking a few more notes down. “Participle of _afel,_ of course, _learning,_ it’s about learning _._ ”

“Making great progress, I see,” says Finn beside her, tinkering with the hilt of his lightsaber.

“Oh, hush, you,” she says, temporarily forgetting to be a dignified Jedi as she makes a face at her friend. “Anyways… Master Satior postulates that the Force is a _learnt_ skill, acquired only through rigorous studying and practice. His position is that no individual is capable of planking—no, wait that’s not—” Kriffing Nacian. “—sorry, _channeling_ the Force without a foundation of knowledge.” She rolls her eyes. “What a load of bantha fodder.”

“No one ever accused the old Jedi of being smart,” says Finn, setting down his saber and gesturing to the platter of freshly-warmed flatbread. “Can I get some of that?”

Rey obliges, tossing him a piece with that fancy herbed butter he likes, before grabbing a plain piece (no need to get butter all over 8000-year-old books) and continuing with the reading. “Right, so Master Satior’s a bit of a fool, but… Master Viran… _vehemently_ disagrees, instead speculating that the Force, being constantly present within every living creature, is an innate ability. Of course, this doesn’t quite explain how some individuals are more strong— _stronger_ in the Force than others…” She takes a large bite of bread. “…though she believes that is more a manifestation of the individual’s decision to use the Force, not a comment on their ability.” A few more notes. “Master Avrami speculates that while devotion may vary, perhaps each individual has a different level of sensitivity to the Force, but most see her theory as ridiculous.”

“So much debate, but no answers,” says Finn, neatly tearing off a corner of his flatbread. “Couldn’t these masters agree on anything?”

“Of course not, disagreement’s part of the old Jedi tradition.” Rey pauses to shove the rest of her bread in her mouth. “Legend says there was an old Jedi Master who used to argue with herself at least twice a day to sharpen her wits.”

Finn gets up from his position on the floor to slide in next to her on the bench.

“But still, I guess they had to agree enough to create the Jedi Code,” she says, lazily tracing the old Nacian characters with her finger.

“And often,” he says. “I mean, we have at least one thousand versions of the Code, right?”

“Well, that just goes back to their arguing.” Rey grabs another piece of unbuttered bread. “Considering they updated it about once every ten years.”

“Until recently.”

Rey pauses, slowly chewing her bread.

Finn clears his throat. “I checked the dates,” he says, resting his hand on the table, “and you’re right, most of the versions are within a decade of each other—but at some point, it just tapers off. You realize the Jedi Code hasn’t been changed for at least five hundred years?”

“That’s odd,” she says, frowning. “Can’t think of anything that would cause it to change like that.”

Finn drums his fingers on the checkered surface, face furrowed in focus. “There’s got to be something we’re missing here. I mean, what would make this fluid organization change so suddenly?”

From the cockpit come a series of roars.

“Alright, alright!” Rey shouts, as Chewie continues his explanation. “Right. Thank you.”

She slams the book closed. “Well, we’ve got five hours to kill until we reach the base,” she says, getting up to her feet, “so what do you say we get a little rest before our grand entrance?”

“Fantastic idea,” he says, rubbing his eyes as they make their way to the bunks. “Wonder how nice this planet will be.”

“Nicer than D’Qar?”

He grins. “Definitely nicer than Jakku, that’s for certain.”

Rey hits him lightly on the shoulder—more out of habit than annoyance, really. “You stop that,” she says, annoyed words only slightly dampened by her grin. He just laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that's Hava. Had to sneak her in somehow, heh.  
> Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed that! I'll try to update when I have free time.


	2. Oh, My Ancient Mars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope is lost, hope is found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance.

The candles flicker, casting a warm glow and subsequent shadows on Leia’s portrait.

Poe is in the front row, starfighter orange swapped for somber black as speaker after speaker waxes poetic about the General’s virtues—her strength, her tenacity, her dedication to the cause and unfaltering kindness. His head is held as high as he can, even as the tears gather in his eyes; he doesn’t know _why_ he’s putting on this air of strength, but somehow, he feels that he has to (if she were here, she’d probably shake her head and tell him there’s nothing brave about putting your feelings aside, you flyboy, but she’s not—she’s never going to—).

Admiral Statura neatly folds the sheet of paper in his hands before graciously accepting the datapad handed to him.

“It was the General’s wish to have her will read as soon as possible,” he says, “in order to ‘get it over with’ in her words.” It’s so uniquely Leia, but no one dares to laugh—not now. “She also wished to remind you not to lose hope just yet, that though she may not be here physically, she will never truly be gone.”

Poe tilts his head up further as a few tears roll down his cheek.

“Without further ado…”  Statura turns his gaze back to the datapad. “Very little remains of General Organa’s estate—most was destroyed with the Hosnian attacks two years ago. What remains is a modest sum of thirty million credits; she wished to have this evenly divided between the Resistance fleets, Admiral Poe Dameron—”

Poe blinks in surprise.

“—and Rey of Jakku.”

More blinking. The crowd begins to murmur, wondering how these two random individuals would end up the sole beneficiaries of this vast sum. Hell, even Poe himself is a bit confused—sure, he always admired Leia and she always seemed to trust him, but to leave behind her estate to him—wasn’t that a bit excessive? And what about Rey? What has she done in particular to deserve this?

Statura clears his throat, and the chatter dies down. “In addition, she had one final request regarding who would take her place as leader of the Resistance.” Poe’s heart begins to pound wildly; there’s no doubt to what his next words will be, not after so many late-night discussions at Leia’s bedside. He knows exactly who will be named.

“In accordance with the chain of command and the General’s final wishes, Admiral Dameron shall take her place.”

Poe’s hands are shaking as he rises from his seat and walks forward. Somehow, he always knew this day would come—but not so suddenly, not so soon, not when he still holds doubts about his own ability to lead this fleet forward.

“With all due respect,” he whispers to Statura, “I’m not sure if I’m ready for this position.”

Statura grins ever so slightly. “Leia knew you would say that,” he says. “She told me to remind you that she would not have selected you for this position if she hadn’t had full confidence in your abilities.”

With that, he presses something small yet weighty into Poe’s hand. When he looks down, he sees Leia’s old ring, blue stones gleaming in the candlelight.

He looks back up, steels his jaw as he fixes his gaze upon Statura, who clasps his shoulder. “Lead the way, Admiral.”

 

*****

 

Back on the _Falcon_ , something odd happens.

They’ve still got a few hours before their arrival on base, so everyone’s trying to catch a few winks of sleep before the inevitable chaos. And as Rey drifts off, the same mantra keeps repeating in her mind: _I want to see them one last time, I want to see them one last time, I want to see them one last time._

“ _Rey._ ”

Blinking, she sits up. The voice she hears is so new yet so familiar at the same time, does she dare…

Quickly looking down from her bunk, Rey makes sure that Finn is fast asleep before descending down the ladder and silently making her way through the ship. The whisper grows stronger, urges her towards the cockpit, and she slides in, wincing at the hiss of the doors.

And sitting there in the pilot’s seat against the backdrop of hyperspace is Luke kriffing Skywalker.

“Good evening—”

Rey swings at him.

Of course, him being a ghost, her fist merely passes harmlessly through his face, rippling blue where it struck.

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“Go away,” she hisses, staring furiously at this man who only ever seems to show up when it’s convenient for him.

Luke shrugs. “I thought you would be happier to see me.”

“ _Two years—_ ” she shouts, then looks back in a panic. Neither Finn nor Chewbacca have stirred yet. “ _Two years,_ ” she repeats in a deadly hiss. “You couldn’t be bothered to show up before then—”

“Rey.”

“—have to get by _entirely_ without you, do you understand how much the General has been suffering, how much the Resistance—”

“Rey—”

“Don’t _Rey_ me,” she spits, eyes aflame. “Why couldn’t you have bothered to show your sorry face _any_ time before now?”

Luke is silent.

“I’m here to apologize,” he whispers after a moment has passed, after Rey’s fists have somewhat relaxed. “Rey, I’m so sorry for these past years.”

She grits her teeth.

“I’ve kept so many things from you,” he continues, “and you’re right, it _was_ wrong.”

A knot tightens in her gut. “What do you mean?”

“Your parents,” he says—plainly, yet still with enough force to strike her heart into a panic. “I should have told you about them.”

Rey’s eyes widen.

Luke closes his eyes for a moment. “The Force,” he says plainly, “is strong in my family.” Rey finds herself leaning in. “And Rey, when I saw you on that island, I knew there could only be one explanation for such raw strength.”

The truth sinks in her stomach like a heavy stone. All this time, she had been wondering about her true lineage, about their identities—and now, here he was, dead and confessing, the man who only ever knew how to conceal.

“I was too frightened to reveal it at the time, but I knew—”

“Why did you leave me?” she asks, eyes wide with grief.

He looks down.

“I waited for so long,” she whispers. Damn it, she is _not_ going to cry right now. “Why didn’t you come back? Did you forget?”

“I was foolish.”

Rey bites her lips, trying to stop the quivering of her jaw.

“Your cousin was growing stronger by the day,” he says, translucent arms folded in his lap. “I could feel the Dark Side wearing away at him—and you were so young, I was terrified you would fall to the same fate, terrified of what our enemies would do if they discovered you existed. So, I entrusted you to a couple in the middle of nowhere, and they gave me their word that you would be safely delivered to an old ally.” He shakes his head. “And five years later I got word from them that you had been stolen away.” He chuckles, but there’s clearly pain in his eyes. “I trusted too easily, fell for their lies—but I could never forget you, Reyna.”

Her eyes begin to burn. “You—” she begins, then bites down on her lips, desperately trying to halt the flow of tears building up in her eyes. “I’ve been waiting for over _twenty years_ for you—”

The floodgates burst open.

She can’t help but cry, curled up in a small ball at the end of the cockpit, muffling each anguished son with her hands. There’s nothing physical that comforts her—and yet, she can somehow feel a warm presence standing beside her.

“I’m sorry,” whispers Luke, resting a faint hand on her shoulder. “Rey, I failed you.”

She shakes her head. Because this isn’t about failure, for once; it’s about her ghost of a father, doing his best to be there for her after years of waiting, of heartache, of mistakes.

He leans down, and she tilts her tear-streaked face up to look at him. Warm blue eyes meet watery green ones. “I’ve made mistakes. But there’s still a chance.” Rey makes a pathetic inquisitive noise. “There’s an old friend, waiting on Naboo—he could be of great use to the Resistance.”

Rey nods, words stuck in her throat.

“Naboo,” he repeats.

When she blinks, her father has disappeared.

 

Wiping away the last of her tears, Rey tiptoes back into the _Falcon’_ s tiny barracks, fully ready to fall asleep—

—and finds herself face-to-face with a wide-eyed Finn.

“What,” he whispers, scooting in closer from his position sitting on his bunk. “Did that just—”

“Yes, it did,” she says bemusedly. “Guess we finally know—”

Something prickles at the back of her head.

“Oh, come _on,_ ” she groans, throwing her head back as the annoyingly familiar sensation increases.

Finn scrambles to his feet. “Is it—”

“ _Yes,_ ” she snaps, before plastering a fake smile on her face. “No, nothing’s happening.”

“Nothing’s happening,” he agrees, wrapping his blanket tight around his bare chest as he falls against the bunk. “Nothing at all.”

“Of course not!” she says, still trying to suppress the frantic knocking at her mind as she clears the ladder and settles into bed. “We’re just going to sleep now, it’s going to be alright—”

Kylo’s face flickers into her sight.

Oh.

_Kriff._

For a few seconds, all she can do is stare at him, hands tense and quivering as her jaw tightens. Force, he’s only _more_ hideous now that she knows they’re—

_“Hello there.”_

Rey can’t help but scream.

Below her, Finn’s rubbing his ears with a pained expression, while Chewbacca’s yelling from the next room over. She winces. “Sorry.”

_“Apology accepted.”_

“Not _you_ , you monster,” she hisses to Kylo at the other end as his smug face floods her vision. “What the hell are you still doing in my head?”

_“It’s intriguing how we’re still connected,”_ he continues, still with no respect for anything she says as he twirls the hilt of his lightsaber around, lounging around in some stupid robe on some stupid throne. _“I truly wonder why that is.”_

“Oh, yes, how surprising,” she bites back. “My darling cousin.”

The hilt drops.

_“What,”_ he stammers, eyes gone wide. _“What the—you were_ supposed _to be_ dead _, this can’t be possible!”_

“Well, clearly it is,” she says with a fake grin plastered on her face. “So, thanks for killing my uncle, you bastard!”

With that, Rey waves her hand and tunes him out, flopping onto the mattress with a huff and pulling the blanket tight around her.

She can deal with the family drama once they land.

 

With a yell, Kylo grabs his lightsaber off the floor and ignites it, familiar anger coursing through his veins as he searched for a particularly disposable control board.

The doors slide open.

“Supreme Leader—”

“ _What?_ ” he yells, pointing his saber in Hux’s direction.

The General takes a tentative step back. “Apologies, my Lord,” he says, voice shaking with something suppressed. “I just thought you might wish to hear that—” He clears his throat. “There’s been another mutiny.” Another cough. “A fairly sizeable one.”

A pause.

Kylo lowers his saber. “How many traitors this time?” he asks, doing his best to sound as calm and collected as possible.

“Four stormtrooper squads and fifty dual occupancy TIE fighters.”

That's… not great.

“And who is the leader of this operation?” he says, still keeping his voice flat. “I wish to speak with them as soon as possible.”

Hux coughs.

“General.”

“We aren't exactly sure at this time,” he says, immediately straightening his back even further, “but we suspect the captain of the HV corps—”

Kylo's eyes go wide. “You _suspect,_ ” he echoes. “Do you not have them in custody?”

“We tried, Supreme Leader, but they succeeded in escaping—”

Losing all pretenses of politeness, Kylo lets rage overtake him and begins an assault on the nearby control panel, screaming with every saber strike. Hux merely squeezes his eyes shut as sparks fly from the machinery.

“This _will not happen again,_ ” he snarls, lightsaber extinguishing with a hiss. “Understood, _General?_ ”

“Affirmative, Supreme Leader.”

Kylo’s hands tighten around the hilt again. “Find the traitors,” he hisses. “Whoever they are, they will _pay._ ”


	3. In These Troubled Times I Call Out to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tide of the war might be starting to shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update, but at least it's finally here! Enjoy.

With a last glance at the blue of hyperspace, HV-5608 pulls the ship out deliberately early.

Instantly, a shimmering blue planet appears in the distance before their ship; the promised land, just mere minutes away.

“Almost there,” she whispers, throwing off the last of the white armor off. The knee pads unceremoniously knock against the blaring orange pauldron on the floor. “Alright.”

Shrugging off the gauntlets, she exits the cockpit, surveys all nineteen mutineers (not troopers, never again troopers) in front of her. “We’ve got fifteen minutes until we land,” she says, bare hand resting against her unarmored hip. “But we’ve got to make a perfect first impression—I mean, hardly anyone knows we’re coming.” She points. “So let’s get that armor off, eh? We’re rebels now.”

There come the standard murmurs of “yes, captain.”

She frowns. “And don’t call me captain,” she says. “This is a team effort, not an assault. It’s…” She pauses, moving around her designation in her mouth, getting a feeling for how best to break it apart. “…it’s Hava now.” She nods. “Yeah, I’m Hava.”

More murmurs.

She—Hava—smiles. “Suggest you all work on finding proper names,” she says, turning on her heel and running a hand through the formerly neat hair, sending it flopping onto her forehead. “We’re real people now, aren’t we?”

 

*****

 

Poe walks over to the command room, rests his hands on the table, looks up at the various commanders and majors around him— _his_ commanders and majors.

Force above.

“What’s the plan?” asks Kaydel as she settles into place in front of the screens.

Poe drums his fingers on the desk, Leia’s ring clanking upon the surface. “Not sure if we have one,” he says. “I guess we’ll just have to wait for any further action.”

“And what about the fighter shortage?” says Statura, walking up beside him.

Poe bites his lip. “That could be tough,” he says. “We’ve got more individuals coming in, but so far, no one large group really seems to want to join the cause—and frankly, I can understand why—”

The alarm sounds.

_Fantastic._

Poe grips the edge of the table tighter as Kaydel turns to him with a worried expression. “Four assault landers and fifty TIE fighters incoming.”

“Perfect timing,” he mutters, panic flooding through his body as the red lights keep flashing. “What are their movements?”

“They’re…” Kaydel pauses. “They’re not moving in to strike.” She tilts her head. “They’re not even in atmosphere yet, Admiral. It looks like they’re just waiting for something to happen.”

Poe exhales. “Get Commander Kun on standby,” he says. “Just in case.”

Something else begins to beep.

“Incoming call,” says Pamich.

Poe closes his eyes. “Alright,” he says, cocking his head and trying to keep his voice steady. “Page them in.”

The beeps stop.

“This is Kyovidras,” says Pamich. “State your callsign and purpose.”

There’s a short pause.

“…hello,” says the voice on the other end—probably female, definitely young. “Um, this is the…” Another pause, as if they’re searching for something to say. “…the… the _Unity._ This is the _Unity_ calling, looking for the Resistance. We… we would like to fight for you—for them.”

_Finally, some help._

Poe smiles. “This is Admiral Dameron of the Resistance,” he says, straightening his back (even if the mysterious caller can’t see him). “You might wanna be careful, though—there’s a bunch of First Order ships right on your tail.”

Yet another pause. Poe shoots Kaydel a brief glance.

“Oh, no, Admiral, that’s ok, that’s us,” says the caller. Poe’s heart briefly clenches with panic—before relaxing. The First Order is too refined for such tricks. “Just believe me on this, Admiral—”

“Alright, alright,” he says, waving his hand. “ _Unity,_ you are cleared to land at Bay 7, but everyone else needs to wait just a bit longer.”

“Understood,” she says, voice quivering with relief—or perhaps that’s just static. “Thank you so much, Admiral.”

The call ends.

Poe immediately turns to Kaydel. “Send a squad up to the landing pad immediately,” he says. “First Order or not, we need to know what’s going on.” He marches towards the door. “And tell them I’ll meet up with them shortly.”

 

The wild ocean breeze blows across Poe’s face as he steels his shoulders and makes his way towards the First Order ship.

Rose and her team follow close behind, blasters tight in their hands—but still lain low. If their pilot is to be trusted, this ship should pose no threat.

And already, he can see the signs. For one, the lander is nearly spotless—save for a streak of crimson lining the front. Clearly not regulation.

For another, Rose doesn’t look terrified at all. Hell, she almost looks… _excited?_

Poe cocks his head and is about to ask her when the hatch opens with a hiss, interrupting any potential conversation. This is it—the moment of truth. If there truly are allies upon that ship, they’ll be saved. If it was all a trick, well…

Poe would rather not think about that.

At first, all that he can see from the ramp are a pair of white armored boots—stormtrooper’s boots. But rather than confidently march forward, they seem to hang back, taking hesitant steps down. Moreover, they are the only boots descending, rather than the cascade so typical of true assaults.

The question is cleared up once the figure comes into clear view.

Instead of a helmet, Poe is greeted with the sight of a young human girl, with smooth brown skin and short black hair hanging loosely over her forehead. Her brows are lined with worry, her strong jaw tense; she is unarmed and unarmored, clad only in a tight black shirt and equally dark pants.

And in that instant, he realizes who she is.

Poe relaxes, putting away his blaster and motioning for the rest of the party to do the same. “Welcome to the Resistance,” he says, smiling warmly as the former stormtrooper takes another step towards them. “We’ll have to go over a few questions, of course—” Rose coughs behind him “—but we’ll get you and your friends situated in no time.”

She nods, a tense look still present in her eyes. “I need to speak to someone,” she says, half whisper and half demand. “Please.”

 

*****

 

Hux neatly marches to the command station. “I need the readout of the hyperspace tracker,” he barks, looming over the shoulder of Petty Officer Sikes. “Immediately.”

Sikes freezes. “Sir,” he mutters blankly.

“Officer, _what_ is the matter?” he says crisply. After two mutinies and the anger of Ren looming over his head, he _really_ doesn’t need another problem to handle.

“Sir, there’s some…” He sighs. “There are some, uh… issues with the tracker.”

Fantastic.

“ _Issues?_ ” he repeats, wrinkling his lip. “Surely you’re joking.”

“Sir, it’s not making a full reading.”

Hux frowns even more deeply. “Show me the readout,” he says.

With a shrug, Sikes pulls up the data from the tracker. “Here’s the data from four hours ago,” he says, as a tiny line begins to crawl across the screen—presumably their traitorous HV squadron. “It went by smoothly for the first five minutes, but then…” The line begins to splinter, emitting some unsavory clicks as each branch crawls in vastly different directions and distorts further. “It just quit on us.” The data below the branches ends up a distorted mess of fragments, humming impatiently. “And that’s all we got before the generator broke down.”

Hux slams his hand on the desk, making the officer jump.

“ _Broke… down_?” he says, spitting out each word. “And _no one_ bothered to report this until now?”

“You never asked, sir,” says Sikes, eyes wide. “I didn’t—I didn’t think it was of much urgency…”

“Not much urgency?” he shouts, waving his arms around in a choleric fury. “One of our most important pieces of machinery breaks down and it’s not of much _urgency?_ ” With a final sigh, he sharply turns on his heel and marches out.

“General, where are you going?”

“To see this disaster for myself.”

 

With quick strides, Hux watches onwards towards the tracker.

Already, just from that short promenade, it seems that his entire Order is collapsing around him. The walls are lined with grime; the floors remain hideously unpolished; the stormtrooper squadrons he passes only reluctantly salute him, looking away as they do so. Upon turning one corner he spots the Supreme Leader, pacing the hallway while frantically muttering “Reyna Skywalker lives… Reyna Skywalker lives…” with his lightsaber hilt in a deadly grip.

Hux swallows, steeling his gaze straight ahead. _Just keep focusing on the imminent problem at hand, Armitage,_ he tells himself, tilting his authoritarian chin up as far as he can. _You can deal with everything else at a later date._

When he reaches the hyperspace tracker, it’s emitting sparks and dark smoke.

“What happened here?” he asks, glaring at the technicians and cadets frantically working repairs on the machinery.

“Hardly a clue, sir,” says one of the cadets, frantically working a spanner on one of the hissing pipes. “All I know is that the tracker quit on us five minutes into working.”

“It’s just not used to tracking multiple small ships at once,” says one of the techs, folding his arms. “I’ve been trying to tell that to high command for the past year, but they just don’t listen…”

Hux scoffs. “If the First Order cannot prove itself superior in every regards, how can it expect to conquer the galaxy?”

“Permission to speak, sir?” asks the same cadet, not once slowing his work on the pipes.

“Permission granted.”

The pipes hiss.

“I think it might have been a deliberate sabotage,” he says. “Someone might have fiddled with it earlier to make it even weaker.”

Hux raises his eyebrows. “Whoever they are, I can assure you we shall deal with them swiftly and—”

“TK-2421.”

Hux and the cadet both turn their heads to see an orange-pauldroned storm trooper march towards them, a full squadron marching behind her. “Report to my division at once.”

“Yes, captain,” he says, dropping his spanner and joining the squadron. Hux salutes the captain on her way out; she proudly returns the gesture.

“ _Thank_ you,” he says. “See? At least _some_ people here know how to treat the Order with respect.” His shoulders relax; perhaps matters aren't as bleak as he made them out to be. “As long as there's order and unity still left—”

His commlink buzzes.

“…excuse me,” he mutters to the technicians, rushing off to answer the call. “Who is this, and what’s going on?”

“Petty Officer Mel,” says a  voice at the other hand. “General, listen, I don’t know how to put this, but—”

“Just _tell_ me already,” he snaps into the mouthpiece. If there’s yet another piece of bad news, he needs to know about it stat.

A quick pause.

“Half the fleet’s gone,” says Mel.

Hux nearly drops the commlink. “ _Excuse me_?”

“It’s true,” she says, strain beginning to wear through her voice. “Half the entire fleet’s defected.”

“Well, then, call the garrison!” he shouts, waving his free hand and nearly knocking an officer in the face.

“The _garrison’s_ defected!”

“You’re _kidding!_ ”

Kriffing hell. No wonder everything seemed so out of place—the Order really _is_ collapsing all around him. No fleet, no garrison, no troops…

“Call in backup!” he yells, voice scratching with anger. “We will not lose the fleet, you hear me?”

Another pause. Hux hears Officer Mel bark orders in the background.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” she says wearily, “but half _their_ damn fleet’s defected.”

“ _What the Hell!?_ ” he screams.

She sighs. “It’s useless,” she says. “You understand, General? The Order’s done for. We’re done for!”

And in that very instant, Hux finally understands all of Kylo’s tantrums.

 

The mutineers themselves think it’s a bit of fun.

“Hard right!” yells captain NT-670, pale cheeks flushed with excitement as their crowded transport avoids what little enemy fire remains.

“Yes, captain,” says TK-2421 with a grin, steering hard. “You’ve got the coordinates, right?”

“Of course,” she says, pausing to punch them in. “All ships, on my command—”

With a rush, 500 ships rush into the blue whirlwind of hyperspace.

670 beams at the young cadet beside her, before entering a new frequency into the communication set. “Hava, this is the garrison—we’re coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for fun, I kind of headcanon [Kawennahere Devery Jacobs](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/walkingdead/images/e/eb/Devery_Jacobs.png/revision/latest?cb=20160223060855) as Hava, because come on, she's kind of perfect?  
> Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed that! I'll try to update sometime soon, so stay tuned?


	4. The Future's Banging On Your Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where old meets new, and the past looks to the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof! Sorry for the late update, but graduation and work and preparing for college just sort of took priority, so... it's been a wild several months, y'all.  
> But anyways! I'm def gonna keep going with this, bc god knows I'm already in too deep. So enjoy! (?)

T-minus five minutes.

Finn’s sitting at the old table, fingers absentmindedly tracing the spines of the old sacred texts laid out in front of him. The physical copies themselves do not matter much—not when they’ve got the translations all packed up and ready to present to the Resistance—translations that the two of them have been working on for the past two years.

Kriff.

It’s almost hard to believe—two years they’ve been floating around the galaxy, just trying to piece together their history, the struggle between light and dark, Jedi and Sith and otherwise. And, excluding the occasional scuffle, it’s been two years since they’ve properly interacted face-to-face with the Resistance. Since he’s really seen anyone—

His heart jolts.

It’s been two years since he’s seen Poe.

 

T-minus four minutes.

Rey straightens her back in the copilot’s seat, pulling the _Falcon_ out of hyperspace on Chewie’s command and taking in the bright hilly planet in front of her.

Kyovidras.

Back when she was fresh off Jakku, she wondered if there ever came a point in time when the rush of the star streaks would fail to impress her, when the sight of the planet jumping into her field of vision would stop thrilling her. Now, two years and countless star systems later, Rey knows the truth; it never will.

Dimly, she wonders about her father. Did he, too, once feel the rush of light speed, the joy of seeing the stars stream past, the thrill of returning to the void? Had he once looked up to the skies like she did, wondering if there was something up there, waiting for him?

 

T-minus three minutes.

Rey smooths down her hair as she leaves the cockpit; Finn stands up, readjusting the fastening of his cloak.

“You’ve got the plan, right?” she asks, giving her bangs one last pat before fiddling with the sash around her waist.

“Of course,” he says, gingerly packing the texts into his sack (unnecessary as they may be, they’ll still be safer off the ship). “You’ve got the Jedi texts, I’ve got the histories—we’ll just share what’s most important with the Resistance and see what they want to do, right?”

Rey pauses. “You alright?” she asks, hands still on her sash. “You seem a little…”

Finn smiles. “Oh, it’s gonna be fine,” he says.

“That wasn’t the question.”

He sighs. “I don’t know,” he says, in a softer tone of voice. “I guess it’s just… what if this entire mission was a waste of time?” Rey hums, biting her lips. “I mean, it’s great that we know marginally more about the Jedi, but there’s no proof the Resistance can put it to any use.”

“Hey, we picked up a new language and found out the Order was messier than we thought it was,” she says. “That’s something, right?”

“Something important?”

“For when we restart the Order,” she says, fighting to keep her hands at her sides and not fiddling with the first bit of loose fabric on her person. “You, me, and whoever else wants to join—and we can’t have a Republic without someone to guide it.”

“It just feels off,” he says, pacing the tiny room. “The last time someone tried to bring back the Order, it was chaos—and who’s to say it won’t be this time?”

“Because we have _hope_ ,” she says, barely noticing the clenched fist at her side. “Come on, we’ve talked about this! We’re gonna make it work, Finn, I _promise._ Somehow.”

He nods, brows still furrowed. “And I guess whoever just landed on the base.”

Rey tilts her head.

“Poe said there’s someone who needs to meet with me once we land,” he says, eyes distant. “And that he needs to talk to you about something…” His hands fly back to his cloak. “Force, everything better be going ok—only been leader for a few hours and already he’s in this mess—”

The realization hits her.

“It’s Poe you’re worried about, isn’t it?” says Rey.

He purses his lips. “A little.”

“Hey.” Rey walks over to him. “Look, whatever happens today, I’m sure it’ll be fine. And if all of this was really useless, well… at least we got _something_ out of it.” She gently lays a hand on his shoulder. “Right, you know how ‘the only thing that’s set in stone…’”

“‘…is that nothing is set in stone,’” Finn finishes. “You’ve always been a fan of that line.”

“It’s a good one,” she finishes, tilting her chin up.

Dimly, Finn realizes she’s just as nervous as he is; that line was just as much for her comfort as it was for his. “You’re right, it might just be fine.”

“I _know_ it will,” she says, pulling him into a hug and cheerfully planting a kiss on his forehead.

T-minus 1 minute.

Rey smiles, hand still around her friend’s shoulder. “Alright, time to look as presentable as possible.”

“Which one of us is walking forward first?” he asks, as the _Falcon_ jerks into a landing.

“You, obviously.”

“ _What?_ ” Finn narrows his eyes. “No, it’s gotta be you.”

“You’re older!”

“You’re more of a Jedi!”

“You _know_ more about them!”

Chewie roars.

“ _No,_ we can’t both fit through the door at the same time,” yells Finn, “it’s too narrow.” Another ululation. “Hey, we’re _not_ puny, you take that back!”

T-minus 10 seconds.

With a noisy whirr, the _Falcon_ once again touches down on Resistance soil.

 

As the ramp slides down, Finn takes note of a few things (while trying to urge Rey down.)

First, the air on Kyovidras is different than D’Qar or their old transport ships. Of course, he theoretically knows about its proximity to the sun and countless oceans, but that doesn’t dull the surprise of the planet’s warm, salty sort of feeling.

Second, the whole place feels alive. Maybe it’s just all the vegetation or the giant, rolling hills—or maybe it’s all the personnel, running around and giving orders. Perhaps the Resistance isn’t as doomed as they’d all thought.

Third, he’s maybe panicking just a little bit.

Footsteps approach their little ship. And—

“Finn, Rey, welcome back.”

Oh, he’d know that voice anywhere.

“ _Poe!_ ” he calls out, abandoning all sense of altruism as he races down the ramp and towards Poe, who’s absolutely beaming with delight.

“ _Finn!_ ” he calls back, immediately enveloping him in a tight hug with a laugh.

Finn grins back, holding him close. Two years is far too long to go without seeing each other in person—and sure, they had their (numerous) calls and the occasional scuffle, but it never quite felt real. This? This is the moment he’s been waiting for.

“It’s good to see you, buddy,” whispers Poe. Something jolts again in Finn’s heart.

“You too,” he says, pulling away from him. “So, how’s leadership treating you?”

“Oh, you know, not too bad,” he says, still with that Force-damned twinkle in his eye. “A little more chaotic than I would’ve liked, but hey, at least something’s happening.”

Finn looks over his shoulder to see Rey finally descending, a soft little grin on her face. “No kidding,” he says. “So, about this person who’s here to see me—”

“Yeah.” Poe lets go of his shoulders and cocks his head towards Rose, standing behind him in her sleek captain’s uniform. “It’s nothing serious, but… she’s really excited to talk to you, buddy.”

“No pressure.”

“You’ll do fine,” he says, smiling at him. “I’m sure of it.”

With a final grin, Finn walks away from Poe (however reluctantly) and nods at Rose. “Good to see you.”

“You too,” she says, giving him a quick pat on the shoulder. It’s remarkable how much people can change within a short time frame—her bangs are more neatly trimmed now, and while she still seems bright as always, it’s a little more… mellow, somehow. “Alright, let’s go see your person.”

 

*****

 

Rey doesn’t really know what to say.

“So, she’s really gone?” she says, standing in front of the General’s little memorial.

Poe nods, brows furrowed. Perhaps he’s at a loss for words, too—hell, anyone would be.

“Strange,” she whispers. Even before realizing just what Leia really meant to her, her loss still feels unnatural. “I guess we just assumed that she’d… you know… always be there.”

Poe pats her shoulder. “I know,” he says. “At least it was…” He sighs. “It was peaceful,” he manages to say. “She knew it was coming.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.”

“Of course not, but at least she was prepared.” He turns to look at her. “She left you something.”

“What?”

“Ten million credits.”

“ _What?_ ”

He rubs his head. “I know, I know, I was a little surprised too—”

“I’m not surprised,” she says. “I just—I mean, I’ve never even been able to _imagine_ that much, and now…”

“Yeah.”

She looks back at the memorial—at Leia’s flickering face, blue and determined. “Anything for her son?”

“No.”

That settles it. Even after death, Leia could already see which member of the family would rejoin it, which would leave.

Poe pats her shoulder again. “So, uh, anything interesting you guys discovered?”

“Actually, yeah,” she says, a little grateful for this shift in conversation. “Finn can tell you more, but there’s this one bit that stuck out—you know about that old legend, about the ‘Chosen One’ who would ‘destroy the Sith’ and restore ‘balance’ or whatever?” Poe nods. “Well, funny story—the original text mentions they’d destroy the Jedi, too.”

Poe’s brows furrow. “Doesn’t say much—pretty sure both are dead now, so whoever that person was, they did a good job.”

“I’m not finished.” Rey crosses her arms. “This might just be a nitpick, but in Nacian—the language it was originally written in—balance means something completely different. I won’t bore you with the details, but ‘balance’ means a middle path. Something else entirely.”

“Well, all we’ve got are Jedi and Sith, so far…” says Poe. “…oh.” His eyes widen.

“You see?” she says excitedly. “It hasn’t been fulfilled yet. I don’t know what that might mean, but… it could be huge.”

“Something else entirely,” he repeats. “Anything else, before we meet?”

“Yes,” she says, standing tall. “My father said there’s someone who could help us on Naboo.”

“Your father?”

“Sorry.” She shakes her head. “Master Skywalker said there’s someone who could—”

“ _Skywalker??_ ”

 

*****

 

The doors slide open.

“Here we are,” says Rose, walking in. Finn follows her, still unsure of what to expect. “Ok, he’s here.”

“Really?” says a young voice from across the room. “It’s really—”

Rose nods, smiling widely. “Yeah, it’s him.”

“Wow.”

Making his way to the table at the center, Finn can finally make out this all-important person: a young girl barely Rey’s age, with choppy hair and bright eyes, in a black shirt and olive-green Resistance jacket. As he sits down, she begins to drum her fingers on the desk, eyes widening.

“Hello—”

“ _You’re_ FN-2187?” she shouts with a bright smile.

He blinks. “Sorry?”

“Oh shoot, I mean—” She begins to look around. “I mean, um, you’re Finn—you’re the first, right? _You’re the traitor?_ ”

Finn really, really wants to take offense to that statement. But try as he might, he just can’t. Maybe it’s in the excited way she asked, the eagerness, the urgency…

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Former designation HV-5608,” she says rapidly, “but, um, my name’s Hava now.”

_Oh._

Finn’s eyes widen. “You mean you’re—”

“Yep.”

He grins—laughs a little. It’s crazy; all this time he thought he’d be alone with his rebellious “traitorous” thoughts, never once stopping to imagine that he’d have someone else on his side all along. “When did you escape?”

Hava looks at the clock on the wall. “Five hours ago,” she says, “but I’ve been planning this for two years now.”

“That’s when I—”

“I know,” she says, eyes shining with triumph. “That’s when I knew I’d be able to, you know, break out.”

“How _did_ you escape?” he asks. “Was there someone else?”

“Of course,” she says, gently waving her hands around, “but it just took so long to plan out—I mean, first I had to plan an evacuation route, steal some data, make sure not to get caught abandoning my post…” She chuckles. “And then, of course, I had to check around to see if there were others like us—”

“Other people?”

“—so it sort of spiraled out of control, I had this huge network of mutineers to keep track of—not to mention actually getting in _touch_ with you guys, knowing where to land…” Here she shoots a meaningful glance at Rose, who seems to reciprocate. “So much to work out—”

“Hang on,” says Finn, lifting a hand. “You brought up other people?”

She shrugs. “I mean, I couldn’t leave knowing that I would be leaving anyone behind, right?” Finn nods. “So I… may have come accompanied.”

“How many?”

She smiles widely. “Guess.”

“Ten?” Hava shakes her head. “Twenty? An entire squadron?” More head shakes. “Thirty, fifty, seventy—”

“One hundred eighty soldiers,” says Hava, looking Finn straight in the eyes. “And all of us want to fight.”

A quick pause.

She cocks her head. “Well, half of us want to fight.”

Finn’s jaw remains open. “Ninety fighters,” he repeats, stunned. “Hava, you’re a hero.”

She snorts. “You started it,” she says, ducking her head. “But I didn’t just come here to brag, you know.”

He raises an eyebrow.

Hava raises her jaw. “I’ve got information,” she says, and immediately Finn can see the fighter in her eyes. “I think I might be able to figure out where we’re from.”


	5. Whatever Comes, It Must Converge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Resistance has plans. Unfortunately, it seems that so does the First Order.

_Broken tracker. Deliberate sabotage. Half the damn fleet._  

These words echo around in Hux’s mind as he walks towards Ren's chamber once more to make yet another report. Hell, it’s only been a few hours and  _already_ he’s back—and to say the same damn thing. 

Only worse, he thinks as he waits outside the overly decorated golden doors, two ominously-clad Knights standing guard. One hundred and eighty soldiers and pilots is bad enough, but  _the entire_ _garrison and then some?_ Frankly, Hux might be lucky to escape this meeting fully intact. 

Hux steels himself, pushing back his shoulders. The Empire wasn’t toppled in a single week; this should only constitute a minor setback in the grand scheme of things. 

Right? 

The doors slide open. 

With a nod from both guards, Hux swallows his pride and walks into the lavish throne room—and proceeds to almost immediately choke on the ash floating in the air, clearly disturbed from their lacquered bowls by the opening doors. Clearing his throat, he proceeds forward, trying not to let his eyes wander over the various holocrons and instruments of torture delicately resting upon the pedestals flanking his path, nor the grim tapestries covering nearly every square inch of the wall, horrid scenes from Imperial history forever frozen upon their surfaces. 

The busted-up control board is still undergoing maintenance when he finally arrives at the foot of the Supreme Leader’s throne, immediately kneeling in halfhearted submission. “Supreme Leader.” 

“What bad news do you bring this time?” Kylo asks, clipping every  _t_ with a warning in his tone. 

Hux looks up. “My  _Lord,_ ” he says, hoping the distaste is evident in his voice, “you must not assume that every time I show up is an indication of misfortune.” 

“It seems that every time you show up, you have nothing but misfortune to deliver.” 

“Still, you shouldn’t assume,” he replies. “A lack of confidence is not very  _becoming_ of a leader.” 

“ _What_ is it that you want to tell me?” Kylo hisses. 

Well. No easy way to put this. Might as well rip off the bandage in one go. 

Hux clears his throat. “We’ve lost the entire garrison and half our manpower, and we don’t know where they are,” he says bluntly, preparing himself for the worst. 

For a few seconds, Kylo doesn't say a word. 

“…Supreme Leader?” Says Hux, fighting to keep his face collected. 

“You’re joking,” he says, face completely devoid of emotion—save for the slight quiver of his jaw. 

The General balls up his hands. “I assure you, Supreme Leader, I would never joke about a matter as serious as—” 

He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. 

No air either. 

 _Kriff_ _._  

“You continue to disappoint,” says Kylo icily, clenching his fist while Hux continues to struggle, hands tugging at his collar in a futile attempt to stop his trachea from being crushed. “I thought I shouldn’t  _assume_ the worst from you, General…” 

Hux winces, pathetically clicking his tongue as his vision begins to tunnel. 

A blip sounds at the comm. “Supreme Leader?” 

Kylo carelessly releases his grip on Hux’s windpipe, leaving him collapsing onto the floor and gasping for breath. “What is your business?” 

“We’ve analyzed what little tracker data we have,” says the Commander at the other end, “and it’s not much, but… it does match up with one of the Republic’s busiest trade routes.” 

Kylo raises an eyebrow. “And what do Republic trade routes have to do with First Order stormtroopers?” 

“What I mean is,” continues the voice, as Hux's eyes widen, “we might know where they’ve gone.” 

 

*****

 

Finn looks around, delicately resting his hands on the conference table. “So. The plan?” 

The conference room is not quite as elegant as the old one back on the  _Raddus_ _,_ but it is a little more polished than D’Qar. Despite being built right into the enormous hills of Kyovidras, the base still has a feeling of spaciousness, with its arched ceilings and soft orange lamps clashing with the dull green of the various screens strewn around and the sharp blue of the central table, still on standby without a projection to cast over the faces of the Resistance members currently in session. 

Rose still seems uncomfortable holding any kind of status, artificially arching her back and looking around. Hava looks more at home but still sticks out, eagerly thrusting her jaw forward with her hands firm on the table. Poe’s trying to look authoritative; Rey’s waiting impatiently to speak. 

Finn? Finn’s just trying his best. 

“The plan,” repeats Poe, adjusting his posture. “Well, the top priority is definitely recruitment. Ninety new fighters is definitely a start, but…” He glances apologetically at Hava. “Well, it’s not quite enough to take on a fleet of at least a million.” 

“Five hundred thousand,” she corrects. “They’ve, well, lost quite a bit recently.” Poe blinks in surprise. “I don’t know how many  _exactly_ are on board, but, um, let’s assume there’s about one hundred thousand eager stormtroopers heading our way right now?” 

Poe continues to blink, glancing over at Finn, who promptly returns the surprise ( _half_ of their entire manpower was on the same page? And he  _never_  found out??). “…oh.” 

Just  _what_ is this kid capable of? 

Hava attempts a smile, eyes darting back and forth between the two men. “Surprise.” 

“Ok—” Poe rubs his face. “That’s… I don’t know how you did it, but great.” 

“But I understand that we’ll need more interplanetary support regardless,” she quickly continues. “A bunch of ragtag ex-Republic fighters and stormtroopers isn’t enough, right?” 

“…right,” he says. “You said you have something, though?” 

Hava beams, thrusting her hand forward over the table. “Indeed,” she says with a bright glow in her eyes, as Poe takes the datastick from her. 

Finn wonders, sometimes. He and Hava basically started with the same belief before their escapes (“I really don’t want to be here anymore”), but it catches him by surprise just how different their starting points were. He didn’t have anyone on his side before rescuing Poe; she at least held the knowledge that someone else existed out there. Would he have turned out just as bright and optimistic had someone else defected before him? Would he have had the courage to turn half his fellow soldiers to his side had he stayed? Or was he always destined to be the hesitant skeptic, regardless of whether or not he was the instigator of this mutiny? 

His train of thought grinds to a halt as the room lights up with the glow of the projection in front of them: a bright blue planet, lazily twirling on its axis. 

“This is Ileuma,” says Hava, gesturing with her hand. Rey bounces from foot to foot while Poe looks up. “It’s relatively unimportant to the Republic: isolated, alone in its system, not much of a galactic player. But what it  _does_ have going for it is population size.” Finn nods along, already having heard this spiel from her (albeit with less confidence and more rambling). “Thus, it’s been a popular spot for the First Order to conduct its raids for quite a while now.” 

With a flick of her wrist, tiny red spots begin to pop up like boils upon the calm surface of the planet, each accompanied with a shimmering date. Like gravestones, Finn thinks. 

“They seem to show up every three years precisely,” she continues. “Enough to adequately exploit it, but not so frequently as to exhaust the… well, the resource pool.” Finn catches sight of the raid spots; there's multiple per year, spread out among the planet, with captures in the tens of thousands. He shudders. “The most recent raid was two years ago, right after the destruction of the  _Supremacy,_ and the first was in year 32—” 

Confused murmuring. 

“She means 13 ABY,” says Finn, laying a hand on Hava's shoulder. “First Order has a weird way of keeping time—” 

“The point is,” she continues, shrugging his hand off, “Ileuma knows the cruelty of the First Order better than any other system.” Her cheeks darken, but she doesn't pause for a minute. “If we are able to convince them to form an alliance—maybe acquire some ships or volunteers—we could have a strong ally on our side.” 

Rey continues to fidget. 

Poe hums. “Sounds reasonable,” he says. “Wouldn’t hurt to send down a landing party down there.” 

“Did you have anyone in mind, Admiral?” she asks, in a sort of practiced calm too familiar to Finn’s ears. 

“Well.” Poe cocks his head, a small grin forming on his face. “If you wouldn’t mind—you’d probably do a great job of convincing ‘em.” His gaze falls to Finn. “Both of you,” he says, voice dropping. Finn’s heart unintentionally skips a beat. 

“I’ll go,” says Finn, tilting his chin up as he looks back at Poe. He doesn’t bring up the thoughts cramming his brain—the fact that he was in the right age group during the first raid, that embarking on this rendezvous with Ileumi officials might be just as much for his benefit as for the Resistance’s. 

He also neglects to mention the possibility that Poe seems to trust him on a different wavelength than with Hava—or, really, anyone else. 

The thought kind of scares him. 

“If I may—” Rey raises her hand, breaking whatever focus Finn had on his far too introspective reflection. Poe nods, and Finn can practically  _feel_ the waves of relief radiating off her. “Right. So, um, Finn and I have been tipped off that there might be a potential ally of Skywalker’s who could be of some use to us on Naboo.” 

“Tipped off?” Rose asks, apparently remembering that she  _does_ have a voice in this conversation—not just the four bigshot heroes (though, of course, to insinuate that she’s  _not_ a hero herself in some form would be downright ridiculous). “By whom?” 

Rey opens her mouth—lets her jaw sort of hang there. “By.” 

Right. Can’t exactly bring up the Force ghost of your old master/secret father to a serious informational meeting. 

“By… well, funny story—” 

“—we kind of… his journals,” says Finn, hoping his confident posture is enough to mask the panic. Rey frantically nods. “Brought up one of his last friends who was still alive, right?” 

In reality, Skywalker kept no such journals. And if he did, he sure as hell wouldn’t trust a bunch of plucky students with them—but hey, everyone else seems to be convinced, so, whatever. 

“What coordinates?” asks Rose. 

Finn turns to look at Rey at the same time her gaze snaps to his. 

“… you know what?” she says, voice straining. “I completely forgot. Should probably go… check them, right, Finn?” 

“Right!” 

Poe blinks as they scramble out. “We’ll be back in a mo’!” Rey calls over her shoulder as they race outside. 

 

Rey’s going to kill her dad. 

Well. Kill him  _again._  

“What exactly  _is_ your plan?” asks Finn once they’re outside the hill. “Skywalker already told you the place, you don’t think he’s gonna—” 

“ _Master Skywalker!_ ” 

Finn blinks in surprise as Rey continues to scream Skywalker’s name into the afternoon sky. “ _Master_ _Skywalker_ _!”_ And still, no answer. “ _Skywalker! Hello!?_ ” 

Oh, wait, he probably wants— 

That sneaky bastard. 

Rey rolls her eyes as she tries one more time. “ _Dad_ _!_ ” 

“You called?” 

Luke appears in the blink of an eye. Rey huffs, crossing her arms. Finn yelps, jumping back. “Hello, children.” 

“You’re—” Finn gesticulates wildly, floundering between Rey and the old ghost, who seems mostly amused by the whole ordeal. “—I mean—you’re—” 

“Sure am,” he says, eyes twinkling with amusement—or is that just the translucency? Hard to tell. “Lovely to meet you, Finn. Heard so much about you.” 

Finn nods, jaw still hanging. “Hi.” 

“Gentlemen, I hate to break this up, but—” Rey shoots her father a glance, hands on her hips. “ _Where_ is this friend of yours,  _exactly?_ ” 

“Ah, attitude,” he says, with a fond smile. “I was just like that when I was your age.” 

“You’re not  _answering_ the  _question._ ” 

Luke waves his hand. “Funny story—” Great. “Turns out he just returned home. Bespin.” 

Finn mutters something under his breath. 

Rey wrinkles her brow. “So you can keep tabs on all your friends—” Finn tugs at her shoulder, but she ignores him. “—but actually  _asking_ them to help out is too hard, I suppose?” 

“Watch the tone, young lady,” he says. “Of  _course_ I could tell him exactly where to go, but think about it—an old friend of Skywalker’s, wandering around with the location of your hidden base?” Rey purses her lips, not quite ready to admit defeat. “And, Force forbid, he gets captured? Interrogated?" 

“Not to mention, another random guy showing up on base unannounced?” adds Finn. “Doesn’t look great for security.” 

“Exactly,” says Luke with a smile, as Rey grumbles about her friend “taking sides.” “He really needs to hear it from one of you guys.” 

“Ugh,  _fine,_ ” she says. “But at least tell me you talked to him.” 

“You mean,” he says, “you hope I didn’t…  _ghost_ him?” 

Rey throws her head back and groans. Not that she didn’t appreciate the joke (it’s so awful that it somehow loops back around itself and becomes funny again?), but he can’t know that just yet, ok? She’s got a  _mission_ to be on. She’s a  _Jedi._ And Jedi aren’t supposed to laugh at their dad’s stupid jokes. 

Hell, Jedi are barely even supposed to have dads in the first place. 

Luke chuckles at his own pun. “Don’t worry, he knows someone’s looking for him,” he says. “Just ask for Skywalker’s friend and he’ll know it’s the Resistance.” 

“So, where exactly on Bespin is he?” asks Finn, tilting his chin up. 

He waves his hand. “I was getting to that.” 

 

“Funny story,” says Rey once they’re back in the conference room. “I totally misread that part, he’s not on Naboo.” She grins weakly. “He’s on Bespin. Deluge City.” 

“Deluge,” Poe repeats. Realistically, he knows he should probably press Rey and Finn a little more, ask to see the journal, shed some doubt on their claims—but, well, with the Resistance still running a little thin, he’s not sure it’s worth it. Besides, it’s not like he has any real reason to doubt those two; they’ve been nothing if not honest and genuine help for all the time he’s known them. “Sounds fantastic. I’ll arrange for a transport to take you there—” 

“What?” Rey shakes her head. “No, it’s fine, you can go. I’ll join Finn.” 

“Wait, what?” 

“I mean,” she continues matter-of-factly, “you actually have authority. It wouldn’t make sense for a random fighter to show up and—” 

“—I’ve only been in charge for, like, five hours,” says Poe, laughing nervously. “Besides, I mean, you’re not some ‘random fighter,’ Rey—” 

“—ok, some random Jedi student—” 

Poe waves his arms. “Rey, you’re his  _daughter!_ _—_ ” 

He freezes, hands still mid-gesture. 

Rey’s stopped talking, face frozen in surprise. Hava and Rose are exchanging an equally confused glance (“Did you know she was—” “Not a clue”). Finn’s biting his lips, pointedly looking away while the rest of the room is assuredly  _not._  

Oops. 

“I-I mean,” he says, resting his hand on the table with a chuckle and accidentally cutting through the hologram of Ileuma, “you’re— _were_ —his student? Right? That’s basically the same?” Rey curls her upper lip. Kriff. “I’m just… I think you’d be a better fit?” 

“I’ll go,” says Rose, leaning in before Rey implodes or Poe says something even stupider. His eyes shift to hers—narrowed with either concern or determination. “Someone’s gotta do it.” 

Poe exhales. “Ok.  _Rose,_ I’ll arrange for a transport for Bespin.” He pauses, biting his cheek. “Uh… Finn, Hava, Rey, you guys take the  _Falcon_ to Ileuma. I’ll send an advance message.” 

Rey nods, halfheartedly patting his shoulder. Rose grunts her approval while Hava excitedly flaps her hands before awkwardly clearing her throat and promptly dropping them. Finn shoots Poe a thumbs-up. 

Poe hopes he doesn’t look too distracted as he returns it.

 

Finn hums, looking around the base one last time as he slings his bag over his shoulder. The last time he left their planetary base, he ended up nearly dying and waking up in the middle of hyperspace, so he has no idea whether or not this will be the last time he actually gets to see Kyovidras—its large, rolling hills, its lush vegetation, its distantly vast oceans. Might as well take it in for now just in case they’re compromised and he’ll never get to return. 

Up ahead of him, Rey’s chatting with BB-8 (“an’ then Finn and I met with the  _queen,_ Bee Bee, it was  _magical_ ” “whrrrr!”) and Hava’s helping Chewie lug equipment onto the  _Falcon_ (“ _where_ did you want these?” “aaaughrah” “I don’t speak that yet, can you just point or something?”). Finn’s just standing, hands on his hips as he breathes in the sweet, salty breeze. 

“Hey.” 

Finn turns his head to see Poe walking towards him, thumbs tucked in his pockets. “Hey yourself.” 

Poe hums, looking around their little (ish) base. “Y’know, it’s kinda funny how you’re all packin’ again for another mission, but I’ve gotta stay on base this time.” Behind them, Rey gives BB-8 one last pat on its domed head before it rolls off in Rose’s direction. “Feels kinda weird, you know?” 

“I get you,” says Finn, desperately trying to ignore the pathetic stirrings in his heart. “Just… it feels like everything’s changing.” The air rumbles as Rose’s shuttle takes off. “Still miss that damn jacket.” 

“It looked good, it looked good,” says Poe with a nod. “You still look good, though.” He bites his lip. “Changed your hair. It’s nice.” 

“I know, I know,” he says, rubbing his neck in an attempt to minimize what the hell Poe just said.  _He thinks you look good. He likes your hair. Oh, Force._ “Man, you really sound like—” 

He pauses. 

Poe seems to understand anyway, gently resting a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “Y’know, buddy, she was pretty proud of you.” A lump rises in Finn’s throat. “Thought you were one of the bravest guys she’d ever known.” 

Finn nods, not trusting himself not to cry. 

Chewie calls to him. Finn’s gaze snaps back, Poe’s hand falling from his neck (when did it climb up to his neck?). “Gotta go.” 

“Course.” Poe cocks his head. “Take care, buddy.” 

“You too,” says Finn, turning to leave—but not before impulsively winking at Poe. 

It’s only once his back is fully turned that he allows his face to scrunch up with the  _horror_ of his stupid impulsive decision. Force. Kriff.  _Why did he_ do  _that?_  

But there's no time to dwell on awkward romantic endeavors, or Leia, or the greenery. 

Because, once again, it's time to go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who's interested in that kind of stuff: Kyovidras is in the galactic southern edge of the inner rim, and Ileuma is on the north end of it. Is this relevant? Or did I just overthink and overplan instead of writing? Who knows!!


	6. Washing up Greater Commotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The First Order has a contingency. The Resistance has a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because as much as I love bonding and friendship and all that fluff, sometimes shit's just gotta hit the fan, right?  
> So! Action abound!!

“We have an emergency to discuss.” 

Kylo Ren splays his arms across the arms of his throne as the other Knights sit up straight, attention focused entirely on him. It feels nice, knowing that he at least has total command over these six. “The Force is… unstable,” he says, surveying their blank, unmasked faces. “Out of balance.” 

“Impossible,” says the Knight on his right. “The Jedi are all but extinct. Skywalker and his treacherous sister are out of the picture; with them gone, no one should be left to threaten us.” 

“ _Should,_ ” he repeats, looking at her with a firm jaw. “But that is not the case, Vale.” His hands tense from their position curled around the armrests. “Skywalker’s daughter is alive, and the Traitor with her.” There’s no need to elaborate; everyone present is aware of the Traitor’s identity: the perfectly obedient man who turned his back, ran away to the light.  _Him._ “Shall they not be stopped, they will only continue to infect the galaxy with their backwards traditions.” 

Vale sighs. “He would have been such a fine Knight,” she laments, and everyone nods their agreement. “What a shame he’s gone to the wrong side.” 

“Perhaps we can intercept him, wherever he and Skywalker’s brat are,” adds Galan from Kylo’s left. “It shouldn’t take much to kill her and turn him.” 

“Impossible,” hisses Kylo. Galan turns his head to face him. “There is no way the Traitor could be convinced to return anymore, not with all the  _cronies_ on his side.” He balls up his fist. “We should have seen this coming. We didn’t. We  _cannot_ make this mistake again.” 

“5608 was one of the most promising soldiers I ever knew,” says Toris emptily, her sunken face reflecting the dim red light of the holocrons. “A few minor infractions, yes—but nothing to suggest subversion or an upset to unity.” 

“And yet, you promoted her to captaincy despite these offenses,” says Galan bitterly, “and look where it got us!” Toris tenses up. “Perhaps you’re too soft a commander, Toris.” 

“I wasn’t of the opinion that concealing minor contraband and  _fraternizing_  with fellow soldiers were severe offenses, Galan,” she retorts. “There was no way I could have predicted that—” 

“ _Phasma_ would have been able to—” 

“ _Silence!_ ” The two clam up as Kylo snarls. “This is  _precisely_ our problem, don’t you understand? While we bicker and bicker, the Resistance slips past and scores victory after victory!” 

“Apologies, Supreme Leader,” says Galan, ducking his head. Toris remains firm. 

“There is some hope,” he says. Vale lifts her head. “Despite the sabotage of the tracker, we managed to track the mutiny’s path along the Rimma trade route.” 

“That’s where the Republic has relocated to,” whispers Uyten from the back. “Malvittus. Core world. Former Order docks.” 

“Former  _creche_ site,” says Toris, eyes widening. “It’s a protest.” 

“It makes sense,” says Vale. “The breach in the data center—the traitors took off with thousands of birth records.” She smirks. “They’re fleeing as refugees.” 

Toris is silent for a few seconds. “Or making a case,” she whispers. “Surely they’ve discovered the Ileuma contingency.” 

 _The Republic. Protest. The contingency._  

Kylo sits up. “Then our approach must be two-pronged,” he says. “We destabilize the Republic—destroy it for good—and reconquer what was once ours.” 

“And the contingency?” 

He smirks. “Well, since they’re so fond of patterns—let's throw them off, shall we?” The other Knights nod in agreement, in understanding. “There’s a gap of five hundred thousand to fill, after all.” 

 

Even after the meeting, Kylo still can’t help but think about the brat. 

He was only ten years old when Lu—when  _Skywalker_ had greeted him with a tiny baby in his arms. “This is your cousin,” he said, voice so warm and fond it almost made him sick. “Ben, say hi to Reyna.” 

And alright, maybe it had been a little cheesy of him to smile and wave back to the little child with hazel eyes who had yet to say anything beyond interested babbling. Maybe he didn’t have to take such interest to the newest addition to the family. But Master—but  _Skywalker_ had always been so fond of children; he took great pride in nurturing his young students both as a teacher and a caretaker of sorts, and they loved him back in turn. Ever since the Academy had opened, parents had flocked to him, showing off their children’s latent abilities and begging for a spot once they were old enough—from backwater moisture farmers to core-world aristocrats. Kylo still dimly remembers the Ileumi queen inquiring after Skywalker’s education, before her toddler son had disappeared under mysterious circumstances. 

So really. It was no surprise that his uncle—that  _Skywalker_ had shown up one day with his own child in tow. 

And still, all Kylo could think about was how he felt like he’d just lost something. 

He can’t say that he felt no sorrow the day she’d (supposedly) died, but at the same time he was mourning his kid cousin, he felt a sort of weight lift off his shoulders. One less family member to become attached to, to worry about. One less attachment, right? 

But here she was. Alive, with his father’s ship and his uncle’s broken lightsaber and his mother’s blessing. She just  _had_ to come tumbling back into his life, take everything, leave nothing. 

But it’s not his family anymore. Why should he care? 

“Supreme Leader.” 

Vale Ren’s voice breaks him from his stupor. “What is it?” 

“Shall we proceed with the contingency, Your Excellency?” 

Kylo purses his lips. Ileuma—bright sunlight and deep oceans and numerous citizens. A queen without an heir, a world without connection. Fruit ripe for the picking. 

“Proceed away.”

 

*****

 

Frankly, Hava’s a little embarrassed with herself. 

Ok, so she didn’t  _completely_ screw up the meeting, and at least she’s now en route to what could be her home planet alongside her idol aboard a ship she’s only ever  _dreamed_ of seeing, but still—she doesn’t fully feel like she belongs. Maybe she’s just being dramatic, or maybe it’s just the whole  _recently broke free of the First Order_ deal, but come on—shouldn't she have known better that the rest of the galaxy  _probably_ keeps time way differently than they do? 

Kriff. “Year 32”? Like she couldn’t have just said “twenty-three years ago” and be just as cohesive without exposing how  _outside_ she was. 

Aside from her little crisis, everything’s ok. The Wookiee appears to be a formidable pilot, and he and Rey cooperate well enough to make the trip go by relatively smoothly (even as the ship herself threatens to fall apart). Right now, he’s entertaining himself by watching the nesting birds that have taken over parts of the control panel, while Rey and Finn are engaged in an intense game of… some holographic strategy game, Hava’s already forgotten the name. Dajari or something? 

Finn makes his move, and one of his larger beasts comes thumping forward—threatening two of Rey’s pieces. She groans. 

“Take your pick,” he says with a smirk. Rey makes an obscene gesture. “Hey, say what you will, but you’re still caught in a fork.” 

“Ugh,” she says, letting the smaller of the two threatened beasts slither forward. “Guess this one’s weaker, you can have him.” 

Finn’s piece dutifully jumps at the opportunity, slamming Rey’s against the checkered tabletop. “Your loss.” 

Hava tilts her head from her position on the floor. “I don’t think you were really in danger there.” Rey furrows her brows. “See?” She stands up, beckoning to the little cowering beast just a few steps away from where the carnage took place. “You could’ve moved this little guy, maybe, and let him take the fall for you.” 

“Damn it,” says Rey, as Finn’s face only gets smugger and—is that pride? “You’re right, that’s a legal play. Should’ve seen that.” 

“There’s always a third option,” says Hava, meeting Finn’s glance. “You just need to be able to find it.” 

Something violently hisses. 

Rey and Finn scramble to their feet, the game automatically shutting off. “ _Again?_ ” she grumbles. “But I just—” 

“You focus on patching that pipe up again,” he says, heading towards the cockpit as the birds fly off with a high-pitched crow. “Chewie and I will keep an eye on the navigation. Hava—” 

“—will help with repairs,” she finishes, as Rey jumps down to assess the damage and Hava stares at the walls. “Toolkit?” 

“Second nook to the left,” says Rey, hair sticking to her forehead. “Get me the bonding tape as soon as possible.” 

Hava finds the box, and immediately flings a roll of shiny red tape in Rey’s direction. 

“Thanks,” she mutters, tearing a long strip off. Hava bends down to see that one of the ventilation pipes has come loose and burst, sending plumes of hot gas swirling into the air. 

Rey finishes the patch job; the pipe’s no longer poisoning the atmo, but it’s still loose from the wall and prone to tearing again. “Quick, I need the—” 

“—miniature L spanner, yes,” says Hava, rifling through the kit to find the tiny, bent contraption. “This a good size?” 

Rey looks up at the spanner tight in Hava’s grasp. “Perfect, thanks,” she says, grabbing it and beginning to wrench in the tiny bolts. “You seem to know what you’re doing.” 

Hava beams. “You too,” she says, sliding the package of L spanners back into the (frankly, poorly organized) toolkit. “Pretty experienced, huh?” 

“Been doin’ repairs my whole life,” she grunts, twisting the spanner. “You?” 

“Was my main rotation back as a cadet,” she replies, setting the kit aside and flopping down onto her stomach. “Mostly routine repairs, but there were a few big pieces of machinery, too.” She grins, remembering the tracker she’d hacked at just yesterday—with all luck, they should be completely wiped from those bastards’ radar. “Maybe it was a mistake to teach a future rebel how to take things apart, but hey, their loss.” 

“I mean, it’s useful,” says Rey, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Can’t count all the times that knowing this bucket of bolt’s weaknesses saved our hides.” 

“Like?” 

Rey grins. “One time, we leaked gas into the ship while we were hiding from troopers,” she says. “Wasn’t enough to kill them, but it wasn’t a fun trip home back for them, you know?” 

Hava snorts. “Sounds like something Threes and I once pulled off,” she says. “Fixed a broken smoke pipe, then immediately broke it again.  _So_ satisfying to see a bunch of stuck-up commanders go loopy for an hour before we patched it up again.” Rey giggles—an honest-to-gods  _giggle_ —as she continues to tighten the bolts. “I swear, Threes was the best partner-in-crime anyone could ask for.” 

“Was?” 

Hava shrugs nonchalantly. “Oh, she died in battle ‘bout a year ago.” Rey frowns. “I mean, it hurts, don’t get me wrong, but—” 

“Battle?” says Rey. “But… I mean, you can’t possibly be any older than I am, and you’re already  _battling_ _?_ ” 

“It’s not that bad,” says Hava, as Rey hands her back the spanner and she tucks it back away. “I mean, fighting as a kid sucks, but it’s really just a sign that the Order’s desperate.” She grabs Rey’s arm and guides her back to the surface. “It won’t be long before they collapse.” 

The two head back into the cockpit, where Finn’s just about ready to pull out of the great blue tunnel of hyperspace. 

And as he does, Hava feels something stir in her heart. Honestly, there’s just something so mesmerizing about being encompassed by hyperspace one moment, and seeing the stars pop back into place the next, as your destination suddenly appears, practically beckoning for you to land. And Ileuma’s no different; she’s all swirling clouds and deep blue oceans and olive-colored forests among the swirling sands. 

“Does it ever get old?” she whispers, eyes blown wide as she takes in the scene in front of her. Beside her, Rey shakes her head. 

 _Thump._  

The ship shakes. Chewbacca roars, Finn yelps, and Hava’s sent tumbling right into Rey’s arms. 

“ _What’s going on?_ ” yells Rey, as Hava jumps to extrapolate herself away from her arms (but not ignoring the arm she slings around her shoulder) and Finn stands up to look out the viewport. Hava’s eyes distantly follow his as she catches sight of the twin-engined fighters roaring by. 

But really, Finn’s face says it all as he turns back, lips pressed into a tight line. “We’ve got company.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun _dunnnnnnn_


	7. When Will Morning Come?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's getting a little crazy up in here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the _actual_ Episode IX just started filming, who else is excited??  
>  Meanwhile, I'll continue with this little canon divergent story. Hope I'll be able to actually finish before the real deal is out there!

Immediately, the ship goes into emergency mode.

Rey leaps into the pilot’s chair and barks at Finn to “go go go!” as she slaps on a headset. Finn nods, grabbing the other two, and beckoning to Hava. “Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” she asks, eyes wide as they hustle down the narrow hallways.

Finn tosses her one of the headsets. She catches it, still looking thoroughly confused. “We’re gonna take out those death traps,” he says. “You man the bottom, I’ll take the top.”

Hava’s hands are still frozen near her chest. “The  _what?_ ”

He tilts his head towards the ladders leading to the guns. “You’ve got this,” he says, hopping onto the ladder and climbing up.

A scramble of feet. “I’ve got this,” she repeats, clearly a few rungs below him.

Finishing the climb, Finn hops into the gunner’s seat, slaps on his headset, and gets into position. “You ready down there?”

No response.

“Hava?”

“I’m gonna fall,” comes the staticky answer.  _Okay._ “Finn, I’m actually gonna fall.”

“You’ll be fine,” he says, as the distinct screaming of TIE fighters comes roaring by. “Rey, you’ve got some on your left—”

“On it, on it!” she yells, as the  _Falcon_ lurches. Hava yelps over the comms. “Are there any under you, Hava?”

“ _Stars,_ these controls are mad janky.”

“She’s pushing fifty, show her some respect!” says Rey as she continues to maneuver the ship. “Finn—”

“—I see ’em!” Shifting around, he lines up the cannons—hands on the trigger—and—

Rey cheers as the TIE spirals out of control, crashing into its buddy. “There we  _go!_ ”

Finn grins. Always good to get into the hang of things. “Got any, Hava?”

“I got this, I got this, I got this,” she mutters under her breath. Finn’s kind enough not to comment—he's been here before. “Ok, there’s some to the left—um, Rey, uh—”

“Hold on.” The ship lurches. His hands grow sweaty on the trigger. “Can you get them from here?”

Hava doesn’t answer. Not with words, at least.

But Finn can feel the  _boom_ of the resultant explosion.

“Nice shot!” he yells, while Hava all but screams with delight.

“ _I got this!_ ”

From there, they manage to settle into a nice pattern. Finn moves; Hava moves; Rey steers; they fire; they miss most of the returning fire. On and on and on. A series of  _booms_ and“Nice shot!”s.

Fewer and fewer TIEs trail them. They should be safe. Everything should be fine.

But Finn’s neck is still prickling with danger that he can’t quite place his finger on.

“Rey?” he asks tentatively, as she keeps flying and barking orders to Chewie about the shields. “Rey, do you see that—”

He glances over to the right. What catches his gaze isn’t another fighter; it’s rows upon rows of transports, boxy and sturdy. Hovering in standby. Not a single one marked with red paint.

They’re in for the kill.

A chill runs down his spine. “Call off the landing,” he says.

“ _What?_ ” says Rey. He can almost hear her frown. “Finn, what’s—”

“Call off the landing,” he repeats. “Something’s not right here.” The rows upon rows continue to advance. “It’s not just another patrol, it’s—”

His turret is fired upon.

“Blast,” he hisses, as the cannon erupts into sparks. “Rey—”

“Get out of there and  _brace yourselves,_ ” she hisses. The  _Falcon_ lurches. “We’re coming in hard.”

“ _What?_ ”

“ _Get out of there!_ ”

Finn leaps out, hands nearly slipping off the rungs as he climbs down and scrambles into the cockpit. “Are you  _crazy?_ It’s a siege, we’ll never survive!”

“You’ve got a  _mission!_ ” she hisses in reply, as Hava trips into the cockpit and falls into her seat. “We’re not abandoning it just because of a few—”

“Look out there and tell me that’s just  _a few_ —”

Rey pushes down on the throttle.

The surface looks a lot more detailed now.

“ _Brace yourselves!_ ” she screams, as Chewie roars. “Come on, come on—”

With a mighty lurch, the ship stabilizes—still cruising at alarming speeds. Hava squeals. Finn screws his eyes shut. “Come  _on_ , you hunk of—”

_Crash._

Rey lifts her head.

Finn relaxes his face.

Hava peeks from behind her fingers.

“We gotta get out of here,” she whispers, immediately dashing out of the cockpit.

“Agreed.” Rey stands up. “Chewie, the ramp—and  _stand guard_ —”

She takes off after the kid, Finn following right behind her after making a quick stop to grab his blaster. A blast of warm air hits her face as the hatch opens and…

…and Hava jumps out without any regard to the ramp.

Kids.

Hava yells, before grunting with a rustle of sand grains as she lands. “I’m ok!” she calls out, as more rustling indicates her shifting position.

Nodding at Rey, Finn runs down the fully-extended ramp onto the Ileumi surface, watching as Hava shakes off the last few grains of sand. “They’ve landed already,” she says, scrubbing a hand through her short hair. “The transports.”

A few TIEs whine in the distance, along with—mechanical rumbling?

Finn stiffens. “Are those—” Hava nods, eyes wide with panic. “Great.”

Rey cocks her head. “ _What?_ ”

“Scout troopers,” says Finn, holding out a hand for Hava. She stands up without taking it. “That means speeder bikes.”

Her face freezes. “Let’s run,” she says on an inhale.

“Great idea!” he says, hand already reaching for hers as the three of them take off.

The fighters from above continue their unrelenting assault as they take off. Rey’s hand feels slick in his own; every step in the Force-damned sand seems to push him back even further; the speeders—

Kriff. Their  _footprints._

“We’re not gonna last long like this!” he yells, as Hava jogs up ahead of them (kriffing specialized footwear). “They’re too fast!”

“Then we go faster!” Hava shouts, pulling out her blaster as they come up on what looks to be a decently-populated village.  _Oh, Force._ “Finn, Rey, you guys try to find something, I’ll—” Before Finn even has a chance to frustratingly ask her why the hell  _she’s_ the one barking out orders, she makes a sharp U-turn, jacket inflating in the wind as she scrambles past them towards the speeders.

“ _What the hell are you doing?_ ”

“ _Improvising!_ ” she screams, before firing upon the scouts.

Finn and Rey briefly exchange a patented exasperated glance, before running straight into the throng—crashing right into a large hovercart.

And even as they fall in a quite undignified manner onto their asses with jasmine bouquets crashing into them, they’ve already got a plan.

“Scuse me!” says Rey, running up to the confused merchant standing beside her wares. “Look, um, we really gotta borrow this for a bit—”

“—so sorry,” says Finn, fishing around for a couple of decent credits (guess they’ll just have to subside on mess hall rations for the week) and plopping them into the merchant’s wrinkled hand, “but it's a bit of a sticky situation—”

Rey hops into the driver’s seat, at which point the old woman seems to realize what’s going on and begins shouting foreign obscenities at her. “Hey, calm down, you!”

“ _Kion_ _,_ _ch_ _u_ _vi_ _estas_ _freneza_ _!?_ ”

Finn hops onto the platform behind Rey, wincing as a few more bouquets fall down. “We’re so sorry!” he calls out from behind his shoulder as they take off.

The last he sees of their irritated victim is her standing still, palm outstretched and eyes confusedly narrowed.

Well.

What a first impression.

Meanwhile, Hava thinks she’s making perfectly good ground on those scouts.

Sure, she’s running right into their line of fire, and they’re going just a bit too fast, and— _kriff_ _,_ they got her arm, but it’s fine! It’s fine. She’s got it.

It’s  _fine_.

Her left bicep’s stinging like no one’s business, but that can’t stop her from bum-rushing the speeder right in front of her and—

— _yes!_ Sticking that landing. Right in front of that bastard.

“Hello,” she says with a smile, before cocking her blaster. The sucker barely has a chance to react before being socked in the chest—all he can do is fall off with an undignified, almost familiar scream.

Ok. Speeder’s all hers now.

No pressure.

“Ok, ok, ok,” she mutters to herself, flipping around onto the seat and grabbing the handlebars. The bike violently swerves. “Come on, improvise, improvise,  _improvise!_ ”

Two more scouts rush past her, before slowing down. “Wait a second.”

“Is that—”

Hava sends a quick prayer to whatever’s out there before pulling the trigger.

“ _Why doesn’t this thing go any faster?_ ” yells Rey as they speed by at a pleasantly quick pace through the bazaar, sending crowds of confused people rushing back.

“ _It’s a flower cart!_ ” Finn yells back, turning as he keeps his blaster trained on the speeders behind them. “What did you  _expect?_ ”

“ _I don’t know!_ ” she says, swerving through the crowds. “Finn—”

“Hold on!” Finn tries to aim at the scout right on their tail, but it’s a little difficult when you’re on an unsteady cart not built for transporting people and your cloak keeps nearly smacking you in the face. “Rey, he’s—”

Rey groans as she swerves the cart away from the incoming fire. “Come  _on!_ ”

“ _I’m trying!_ ” More speeders build up on their tail. Kriff.

Holding up his blaster, Finn desperately tries to line up just one shot—just one, damn it—

_Yes!_

Their pursuer’s motor (well, one of them) emits sparks and skids to a stop, crashing noisily along the ground.  A few more shots—the scout falls down. Just in case they got any  _ideas_.

He can’t let himself get carried away, though—there's still four more bloodthirsty scouts roaring after them, lobbing volley after volley of blasterfire in their direction.

Dangerously close blasterfire.

Rey keeps driving, cursing as she nearly avoids crashing into a wall—and promptly swerves into a cozy little alleyway, all golden stone and shuttered windows. It’s a beautiful city, no doubt—warm and inviting and comforting. In any other scenario, Finn would be delighted.

But right now, they’re under attack. And, well, it  _is_ a narrow alleyway.

“Great!” Finn shouts, hands clenching tightly around his blaster. “Just great!” His stomach lurches as they take a sharp turn. “How are we supposed to avoid getting shot now?”

“ _Shoot them!_ ” yells Rey in response, sending them hurdling faster along the cobbled street.

With a huff, Finn grits his teeth and fires before they can, knocking a couple of troopers off their bikes—which, with no riders, begin swerving and crash right into each other. Finn whoops, even as they narrowly miss getting hit by the resultant debris.

Whoops.

“We’ve still got two more on our tail!” The walls begin to grow further apart— _finally,_  some breathing room.

“I see them!”

The square opens up—but there’s other challenges in the way. “Rey, I don’t think that blasters are a—”

“—good idea in this crowd,” she finishes. “Gotcha. I’ll handle them.”

“Great.” Best not to accidentally kill the citizens you’re trying to impress.

Of course, the First Order never really gave much of a hoot about civilian safety, so it’s no surprise that they continue to fire upon them. Rey does her best to dodge the volley, while Finn motions with his (non-blaster) hand for everyone to  _get out._

Right up ahead, there’s a wall—a towering one. And, tucked into the side—

“ _Over there!_ ” he yells, keeping his eyes fixed on the little alleyway on their right.

“Just a mo’,” says Rey, not making any effort to turn and keeping her trajectory fixed on the solid slab of sandy stone just a few meters away.

Finn knows what she’s doing; that doesn’t mean it still isn’t terrifying.

Despite their apparently suicidal path, the scouts trailing them continue their pursuit and keep firing, hitting a few pillars and storefronts rather than their zigzagging targets. Everyone else around them has clearly gotten the message, scrambling behind closed doors or sheltered kiosks, nervously jabbering away in various guttural dialects. If these are really his people, well, at least they’re a sensible bunch.

The blasters keep firing.

Rey keeps the cart trained on the wall.

Finn braces himself.

Something explodes behind them?

Turning his head, Finn’s greeted with the sight of—a speeder, with a distinctively non-Stormtrooper occupant upon it.

“Hava!”

“Told you I’ve got it!” she yells with a grin, as her victim’s speeder continues to smolder. Finn grins right back.

Their last pursuer, undeterred by their fallen comrade, continues to tailgate Finn and Rey, but not for long.

Seconds before impact—Rey sharply steers—they drift—right alongside the wall.

The scout… isn’t as fortunate.

The two holler in delight as the poor shmuck crashes in a blaze of orange flames. “ _We did it!_ ” she yells, slowing down to a more leisurely pace. “ _We’re alive!_ ”

“ _We’re alive!_ ”

“You’re under arrest.”

Finn’s heart plummets as they skid to a stop in front of the unamused officer in front of them. “What did we ever—”

“We have reports of a Corellian freighter making an undeclared landing,” she says flatly, “right on protected grounds.” Finn’s hands start trembling. “The property damage and reckless endangerment of life  _could_ be excused as self-defense, but we’ll have to see about that—”

“Hold up, hold up!” Hava comes running in beside them. Finn doesn’t even have time to notice the gash in her left sleeve before she waves her hands with an out-of-breath “we’ve got clearance, I swear, we just got caught up—lives were at risk—we're Resistance, ma’am!” She furiously points to the red Starbird logo on her jacket. “ _We’re Resistance!_ ”

The officer raises an eyebrow.

Rey turns to Finn, lightly tapping his shoulder. “Show her,” she whispers.

“Show me what?”

“Er—” Rey’s eyes widen. “Well, show you that—show you—erm—”

“Show you this,” he says, pulling out the data file. “Our mission.”

The officer tightly presses her lips, staying silent as she takes the file from Finn and runs a quick scan over it. Glowing blue words pop up; hopefully they’ll be enough.

Rey grabs Finn’s hand.

The officer tilts her head up, eyes still fixed on the screen.

After a moment, she speaks up. “The Resistance will be able to cover for any property damage, correct?”

“Right,” says Rey, squeezing Finn’s hand. He squeezes it back.

“Very well,” she says. “It does look like you have clearance, after all.” The glow dissolves, and she hands the data file back to Finn. “Follow me.”

*****

Bespin is absolutely gorgeous.

As a child stuck among the grit of Hays Minor, Rose had always longed for the freedom of clear skies; Bespin seems to be nothing  _but_ freedom, all swirling white clouds among soft skies. It’s almost like flying right into a painting, with its mouthwatering pastels as the sun begins its slow ascent into the morning sky. She knows from legends, of course, that Cloud City has a reputation of grandeur and opulence among the galaxy. She’ll have to see for herself later, though; today, her destination is the delicate oasis of Deluge, a delicate little umbrella bobbing along the more turbulent side of the planet.

The wind whips her face as she descends from the little craft. Thankfully, the city proper is more well-guarded against the elements; a thick, transparent dome encases the upper strata, leaving that dreamlike view open for all to see, without the windchill.

When she inquires after Skywalker’s ally at the main office, she’s given directions to his upperdeck suite. Rose follows them, walking along the faux-cobbled streets and bright blue lamps, as BB-8 diligently rolls alongside her, occasionally interrupting their stroll with inquisitive beeps.

“You’re right, that  _does_ look like C-3PO,” she answers, looking at the silvery droid stiffly walking alongside a well-dressed woman with tightly coiled braids. “No, I don’t think they’d get along very well.”

At a tall building made up almost entirely of sleek white spires, Rose punches in the number of his apartment and waits.

BB-8 blips.

“I hope he picks up,” she says, crossing her arms. “Rey told me he should.”

When the call is answered, the voice that greets them is a soft baritone. “Who is this?”

“I’m Rose,” she says, pushing her shoulders back even if he can’t see them. “I’m with the—I’m looking for Skywalker’s friend.”

A pause.

“Go ahead,” he says, as the door clicks open. Grateful, the pair strides in.

BB-8 seems excited by their elevator ride to the penthouse, chirping as the sky flies by them. Rose can’t blame them—if this was her everyday view, she doesn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

Finally, they reach the top floor. Rose takes long strides along the blue carpet, jutting her chin up as her hands clench and unclench at her side.

“I don’t know who it is yet,” she tells BB-8. “But whoever he is, I’m sure he’s nice.” BB-8 beeps. “He  _has_ to be, why else would Skywalker trust him?”

The apartment door looms in front of her. With a trembling hand, Rose knocks.

“It’s unlocked,” calls the smooth baritone voice from earlier. Taking a deep breath, she opens the door, stepping inside the white-walled penthouse.

An unmistakable man in an ornate cape is standing in wait for her.

“You’re with the Resistance?” he asks—not accusatory nor expectant, but curious. Matter-of-factly.

Rose nods, mouth dry. Whatever words she had planned for this meeting have vanished upon seeing the Baron General himself.

Thankfully, they’ve planned for this.

BB-8 diligently rolls forward, projecting Rey’s figure into the apartment.

“I don't know who you are,” she begins, hands clasped in front of her, “but years ago, somewhere, somehow, you helped my father. And now, we've come to you seeking aid once more. I apologize that I couldn't introduce myself in person, but I'm sure we'll meet by the time you land on base.” She bites her lips, eyes briefly darting to the side. “I have no idea what you did or where you came from, but if my father trusted you, then I trust you,” she says, an unwavering certainty in her voice. “You  _must_ return with the Resistance to help us restore freedom to the galaxy and defeat the First Order for good. We're on our last hope,” she pleads. “I beg you, please help us.”

A pause.

“Alright, BB, I'm done,” she says, relaxing her hands. “Wait, how do you stop the—” Offscreen, BB-8 beeps. She bends down. “Alright, I'm—”

When the projection fades out, Lando Calrissian is silent.

“She’s alive,” he whispers. Rose nods, unsure of what else to say.

“Did you know her father well?” she asks hesitantly.

“I’d hope so,” says Lando, a small grin tugging at the side of his mouth. “We fought together in the Rebellion.”

_And then you stopped,_ she wants to say. “What happened?” she asks instead.

His face falls. “Luke didn’t tell anyone where he was going,” he says. “No one could predict how dangerous the First Order could really be.”

“Except Leia.”

“Except Leia,” he repeats. “She knows what’s coming—sets up a guerrilla cell to fight it. I…” He sighs. “I tried to help in every way I could. Funds, ships, weapons—whatever I could to support them behind the scenes.”

He’s silent.

“We need you to come forward,” says Rose. “Poe—Admiral Dameron needs all the help he can get.”

“Dameron,” he says softly. “Just like his parents, huh?”

Rose nods again. All these names—Skywalker, Organa, Dameron, Calrissian—all these names still hold such weight, even decades later. The need for such legends hasn’t fizzled out; it’s only grown stronger. Anything for a winning shot.

Lando's eyes seem to focus. The legend awakes. “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for anyone who can guess which obscure language I used?  
> Anyways, hope that was worth the wait! Can't wait for you guys to see what's in store.


	8. Begging to Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things just fall into place; sometimes, people just fit perfectly.

“How’s it going over there, buddy?” 

Finn’s face glows a gentle blue in the comfort of Poe’s office. “We’re fine,” he says. “Um, there was a bit of a skirmish after we landed, but nothing serious—” 

“A skirmish?” says Poe, furrowing his brows. “I mean, what kind of skirmish are we talking here?” 

Finn shrugs, though his eyes still feel a bit distant. “Just a couple of TIE fighters and scout troops, nothing we couldn’t handle. Uh, the government wasn’t too happy, but at least we’re off the hook.” He sighs. “Little bit of a fine, though.” 

“I’ll handle it,” says Poe, shrugging. “Can’t be too much. Anyways, everything else on track?” 

“Course,” says Finn. “Straight to clinic for a quick patch-up and cheek swab. Find out if Hava and I are from here, try to persuade the queen to aid the Resistance. Nothing too difficult.” 

Poe smiles. “You’ll do a great job,” he says softly. “Regardless of the results. I mean, you’re a freaking  _natural,_ you know.” 

“Come on.” 

“Finn, you managed to convince me you were on my side seconds after holding a gun to my head,” says Poe. “If anyone can impress the queen, it’s you.” 

“It’s not that hard,” says Finn. “Any ex-stormtrooper would be able to make an impression on her.” Despite Poe’s attempts to interrupt with another reassurance, he continues, holding up his hand. “Look, everyone here knows at least one kid that’s gone missing in the past twenty years. Including Her Majesty. So…” He shrugs. “It’s just a matter of emotion. Not too hard.” 

Poe scoffs. “Not too hard to convince the leader of an entire planet to take sides in a civil war?” 

“No?” Finn tilts his head. “It’s just talking.” 

“I’d probably freeze up ‘just talking’ to someone like that.” Poe shrugs. “Admit it, you’re a better diplomat than half of us.” 

Finn bites his lips. “I guess,” he says. 

“I  _know,_ ” says Poe, eyes soft. “It’s gonna be great.” 

Finn nods, then looks over his shoulder. “Gotta go,” he says. “I’ll update you later, ok?” 

“Gotcha,” says Poe, biting his lip. “See ya.” 

With a wave, the conversation ends. 

Poe sighs, leaning back as he takes in what was Leia’s personal quarters only a few days ago—and frankly, still feels like Leia. See, he’s been a bit busy trying to organize missions, send for interplanetary aid, pine helplessly after his friend, other important leadership-related matters; that doesn’t really leave much time in the way of redecorating. Which means that all of the things that made this room  _Leia_ are still around: the maps, the potted Alderaani flowers, the crystal windchimes hanging from the ceiling. 

Frankly, he muses to himself as he gently brushes his fingers along one of the old chimes, maybe the reason he hasn’t changed anything is because he doesn’t  _want_ to change anything; he and the General already shared enough of their tastes that this room still feels like home. All he’d really have to do is add a little more Yavinese flora, reorganize the star charts to his own preferences, replace the old stills of Han Solo with— 

The alarm sounds before he can finish that thought. 

Standing to attention, Poe races out his office and finds himself once more leaning over the war room table. “Who is it?” 

“Bunch of assault landers and TIE fighters pulling out of hyperspace,” says Kaydel, bending over to properly look at the panels in front of her. “They’re waiting in orbit.” 

“Waiting, huh?” he says, heart beginning to race. Maybe that kid  _was_ onto something. “Sounds familiar.” 

And, just like he expects, someone soon tries to establish communication. 

“This is Kyovidras,” says Pamich, the corners of her mouth twitching in what could only indicate a barely-suppressed smile. “State your callsign and purpose.” 

“This is Commander Nina of the  _Aeolus,_ ” says the voice on the other end—articulate and unwavering. “We come in search of the Resistance. We wish to offer our services and our troops in the fight against the First Order.” 

Turning his head, Poe nods at Pamich—who promptly breaks out into that smile she’s been holding back. 

“This is Admiral Dameron of the Resistance,” he says, hope bubbling in his chest as the ships continue to trickle out of hyperspace. “We’re sure glad you want to join us, but we need to clear a few things first before you land.” 

“Affirmative.” 

“Commander, how many ships have you brought with you?” 

“Ninety-two transports, two hundred five dual occupancy TIE fighters, and three command ships,” says Nina without any hesitancy. “We total one hundred twenty-five thousand and ten fighters.” 

Poe’s eyes go wide. “Impressive,” he says. “We… might need to do some arranging to, well, fit you all, but we can manage. Who sent you here?” 

“Captain HV-5608,” she says. “You might know her as Hava.” 

Poe flashes a thumbs-up to the rest of the room. “And know her we do,” he says. “She’s been nothing but trustworthy.” And cunning, if this is any indication; kid managed to convince  _half_ of the First Order to leave and a  _quarter_ of that to jump ship to the Resistance? And it only took her some two years? “ _Aeolus,_ you are cleared for orbit. We’ll be out to help you all land shortly.” 

“Acknowledged,” says Nina. “Thank you, Admiral.” 

“My pleasure, Commander,” he says with a smile, before signing off. “Alright. Let’s see how much this base can fit.” 

 

The base, as it turns out, can fit quite a lot. 

Poe has a blast helping with the traffic, watching as Black Squadron escorts the little ships down to the tarmac while olive-clothed technicians flag them down to their respective bays. A transport over here, a fleet of red-streaked TIEs over there—it’s a joy to see everyone get settled. Meanwhile, he’s doing his best to greet everyone that debarks. 

“Welcome to the Resistance,” he says with that smile that always wins over people, giving a quick handshake or appreciative nod to every fresh-faced soldier that climbs out of those transports. “Make yourselves at home.” 

For their part, the mutineers readily join the steady flow, following the lieutenants to their temporary quarters. Some keep their head low, some hold their heads high, some can’t stop giggling or exchanging incredulous glances. Some of them even speak. 

“You’re that Resistance scum pilot that knew the traitor, right?” asks one youthful defector as he shakes Poe’s hand, skin absolutely flushed dark with excitement. “Dameron, or something?” 

“That’s me,” he says, then drops his voice. “I was the scum pilot who  _escaped_  with him.” 

“ _No way._ ” 

He can’t believe it. Probably all this kid’s ever heard of him was that he was an evil Resistance pilot who had to be stopped at all costs—and still, he finds the time to look up to him  _and_ admire the so-called “traitor” that broke him out. Good really does exist even in the darkest of places. “Really,” he says, as the kid’s eyes keep shining. “And he’s just as amazing and kind and brave as you think he is.” 

“I can’t wait to meet him.” 

“You’ll get to, soon enough,” he says. And it’s true enough—Finn should probably be back within the day, if all goes well. “Anyways. What’s your name?” 

“TK-24—” He stops. “Um… um, TK.” His cheeks darken. “I know it’s not great, but…” 

Poe beams. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, TK,” he says. “Now let’s get you settled, ok?” 

“Yes, sir!” he says with a wide smile, before running off after the rest of his squadmates. 

Kaydel walks up beside him, arms crossed. “Going pretty well, Admiral,” she says. “Looks like everyone’s happy to be here.” 

“We’re not quite done yet, though,” he says, looking back up to the sky—already warm and orange with the sunset. “Still don’t know about those… what did she call them? Command ships?” 

As if on cue, three Star Destroyers materialize in the evening sky. 

Poe’s jaw hangs open. 

Kay turns to look at him, her astonished face mirroring his. “We’re gonna need a bigger base.” 

“Agreed.” 

 

*****

 

Finn’s never been much for waiting. 

Back in the Order, waiting was the little free time they had between training simulations and propaganda-laced classes; a brief period of time to exchange glances and share idle stormtrooper gossip that never meant anything and never went anywhere. Back in the Resistance, waiting means there’s nothing he can do but sit back and let the mess sort itself out; it’s not a pleasant state to be in. 

Right now, waiting just means that his DNA’s still being analyzed, and that nothing concrete is known about his identity; all he can do is sit and hope that Hava’s consultation goes by smoothly. And quickly. 

The doors slide open. 

Finn turns as Hava walks out, left arm nicely bandaged and eyes crinkled with the force of her smile. “Everything go well?” She nods excitedly, sinking into the seat beside him. “And?” 

“Well, they couldn’t exactly find any records of  _me,_ specifically, on the databases,” she begins, the words rushing out of her at a rapid-fire pace (a good sign), “but they said that, like, genetically, I’m  _definitely_ from here!” 

“That’s great!” he says, smiling. Briefly, he considers pulling her in for a quick side-hug, but quickly decides against it; based on how she reacted the past few times, she’ll probably just pull away immediately. 

“I know!” she says, excitedly flapping her hands. “I mean, it’s probably because I was just born or something when they… well.” She sighs. “Because nothing says ‘we’re the good guys’ like kidnapping newborns.” 

Finn leans back. “At least you’re back,” he says. “I mean, that’s definitely got to give us some leverage.” 

“Maybe?” she says, resting her hands on the jacket folded in her lap. “I mean, I’m not exactly anyone special—that the galaxy as a whole knows of,” she quickly adds after seeing Finn’s scandalized face. “Right now. But you? Pretty much everyone knows who you are at this point. If they find out that  _you’re_ from Ileuma? That’s  _really_ something.” 

“If,” he says. “But it’s only likely, not certain yet.” 

Hava hums. “Well, I’d like to be optimistic,” she says. “We don’t know yet, but maybe it’s good.” 

“I guess,” he says, looking at the door to the little lab where everything’s being tested and evaluated. “I hope so, at least.” 

 

Finn may be right to hope. 

That’s at least the conclusion of the doctor meticulously analyzing the sample in front of her. So far, it seems pretty conclusive; Finn’s DNA is almost perfectly pure Ileumi. All that’s left is to compare it to the overwhelming database of missing persons, and find out which sequence matches his. 

She starts flickering through the database. Rows of letters fly by her face as the algorithm rapidly compares the base pairs and starts rejecting each one; a G where there should have been a C, or too many A’s in a row. Nothing seems to be a perfect fit yet. 

Unbothered, she keeps going through sequence after sequence, knowing in her heart that one of them  _has_ to match— 

—and one does. 

Unlike the other sequences, this one scrolls alongside Finn’s code with no breaks, no mutations, no errors. After several long seconds, it reaches the end—still perfectly matching. 

An identity. 

Hand steady, she pulls up the record of just whom this sequence belongs to, and it’s… 

…wow. 

The doctor’s eyes go wide as she prepares the data file. Hopefully she can keep this on the down low for just a few more days—let the galaxy sort itself out before everyone parades Finn’s identity. 

Because, frankly, he’s got a surprise in wait. 

The door slides open as she steps through it. “Mr. Finn?” she says, hoping her face doesn’t betray the range of emotions she’s feeling. 

It just might; he stands up swiftly, shoulders held back as he follows her into the lab. “What is it?” he says, taking a seat across from her. 

There’s no easy way to put this. 

She slides the file his way. “Well,” she says, “I do believe your mother’s waiting to meet you.” 

Finn looks up, eyes wide. “Wait—” 

She nods. “Welcome home, Your Highness,” she says softly, as the prince sinks into his seat. “It’s good to have you back.” 

 

*****

 

The transport pulls up to the palace.

Rey’s looking ahead in wonder; Hava’s practically vibrating in her seat; Finn hasn’t said a word since he stammered out his results to the two of them.

He walks out in a haze, still processing those words. Objectively, he knows it’s true; if that’s what the good doctor said, then she must be right. But still, he can’t quite wrap his mind around the potential that not only does he have a home and a family waiting for him, but that said family is in charge of the entire planet he’s just landed on.

The queen herself is waiting in front of the palace doors, delicate hands clasped in front of her. She’s silent as the trio advances.

No one dares speak a word.

Rey is the first to hang back, looking awkwardly at the other two as she realizes that maybe this isn’t her moment. Hava is next; as they prepare to introduce themselves, she briefly lays a hand on Finn’s shoulder, meeting his eyes with a quick nod before stepping back and leaving him to have a moment with Her Majesty.

His mother.

Finn doesn’t even think he  _can_ say anything as he stops in front of her; it’s as if his throat is conspiring against him. But really, he doesn’t even need to say much; one glance at the queen’s dark eyes, and it’s as if the Force itself is sending the message loud and clear.

She lays a trembling hand on his shoulder.

“My son,” she says in a delicate voice. Pursing his lips, Finn nods as a rogue tear slips down his face. “Oh, my son.”

All pretenses of pretending to be strong fall then and there as he buries his face in his mother’s elegant shoulder, arms tightly wrapped around each other as over twenty years of emotions breaks loose. Nothing still is said as they tightly embrace; nothing needs to be said.

He’s home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _And the plot thickens_  
>  Just for fun: Kyovidras is loosely based off of the [Chocolate Hills](https://d36tnp772eyphs.cloudfront.net/blogs/1/2017/09/chocolate-hills-thumb-clean-1200x720.jpg) of Bohol, and Ileuma's little shops and alleys are heavily inspired by Jerusalem and its [old city](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/b/b9/Old_Jerusalem%2C_Jewish_Quarter_road%2C_Hadaya_Jewelry_2009.jpg). Space may have endless possibilities, but you gotta admit that Earth's pretty nice, too.  
> Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed that! Hope to see you soon—and this time, it might not be as sappy…


	9. Coughing up Halos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kylo, unfortunately, continues to be the absolute worst—and the absolute ruler.  
> This won't end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Now that I'm finally moved in, I've got a little more time to actually deliver the goods!  
> On the other hand, school is in session once more. Fewer classes, but classes nonetheless, so hopefully that won't impact the update schedule too much.  
> Anyways, hope you enjoy!

Hux is frankly exhausted.

Nothing of the news brought back from that foolish raid on Ileuma looks positive. The Order hasn’t won anything, gained anything, achieved their goals as lightning fast as they’d wished (or, rather, as that Vale witch on the Supreme Leader’s right hand had wished). It’s this damn troop shortage—one week they’re fine, the next they’re defenseless and running tight. How the hell could anyone expect them to plan a large-scale sabotage on an entire planet with less than half their manpower?

Hux can’t stop ruminating as he marches down the halls of the  _Splinter_ , now their last Super Star Destroyer after those mutinying bastards decided it would be  _hilarious—_ just absolutely  _hilarious_ —to hijack what little grandeur was left. The ship’s walls are still grimy with fingerprints and graffiti slogans in bright red paint (he hopes it’s just red paint), the floors still lined with footprints and filth. Every step he takes closer to the throne room feels like another step towards doom, the walls seeming to inch ever closer and closer together. Like a trap lying in wait.

He doesn’t feel good about the present situation.

The doors swing open once more. Clenching his jaw, Hux strides into the dark room once more, red light catching on his dark jacket and leaving it speckled with bright crimson and deep shadows.

This, he will remember later.

“Supreme Leader,” he says coldly, kneeling out of habit.

“What is it, General?” says Kylo, brows already furrowed in distaste.

“It’s about Ileuma,” he says, tilting his head up and meeting his impassive gaze. “The raids.”

“How many soldiers did we manage to acquire?”

Hux’s jaw trembles, but no words come out.

“Don’t test my patience, General.”

“…none so far,” he says. “We were intercepted, my Lord; we lost at least five TIE fighters and five scouts.”

Kylo raises his eyebrow. “Intercepted?”

“Skywalker, my Lord,” he chokes out in a whisper. Kylo says nothing. “If what little reports we received are any indication, she escaped onto the planetary surface along with the traitor and the HV captain.”

“ _Alive?_ ”

“Alive.”

The cogs seem to turn in the Supreme Leader’s eyes.

“My Lord?”

“…he must know by now,” he whispers, eyes strangely unfocused.

“My Lord.”

Kylo waves his hand. “No worries. Proceed with the raid as usual. I’ll handle Skywalker’s brat myself.”

“Call it off.”

Kylo’s gaze snaps back to him. “Excuse me?”

“I said, call it off.” Hux stands up, glaring at this sorry infantile excuse for a ruler. He’s done groveling at his feet—time to be honest. “These raids, these captures—they only seem to ever work against us in the long term.”

“You used to love your soldiers.”

“And I still do,” he continues, “but you were right, there’s too much of a disloyalty problem, something that, if you haven’t  _realized_ —” he violently jabs his finger at Kylo “—has left our numbers  _significantly_ reduced.” His other hand curls into a fist. “There’s no chance we can successfully raid another expectant planet. We’re better off retreating into the shadows, letting the Republic think it’s won, focus on recruiting loyal, obedient soldiers who  _won’t_ desert us at the drop of a hat!”

Kylo rises from his throne. “Are you questioning my authority?”

Hux hesitates, his hand sinking, before gritting his teeth. “Yes, my Lord,” he says, shaking his pointed hand. “Because what you’re doing is  _foolish,_ and will never result in this Order recovering what it’s lost.”

Kylo sharply grabs hold of his shoulder, squeezing. “This is  _treason_ ,” he hisses.

Bright crimson, dark shadows. “Then so be it,” he says, eyes wide with madness as the Supreme Leader digs his fingers into his arm. “You will be the death of us.”

A telltale sharp hiss echoes throughout the room.

Hux remains unwavering—even as the fiery saber burns in his neck, even as he can’t take a single breath, even as his vision tunnels. Bright spots dance in front of his eyes, and still, he remains defiant. The lightsaber retreats, and his hands fly up to uselessly protect the gaping hole left in his throat—and still, he glares into the Supreme Leader’s eyes one last time.

The last thing on Hux’s mind before he dies is that they’re doomed.

Kylo Ren looks down at the corpse collapsed at his feet.

Then, after a moment’s deliberation, he kicks it aside and heads out, his cape fluttering behind him with every heavy step across the halls. All that was just a minor setback. He’ll have everything under control in no time.

Reaching the private quarters, he inputs the code at a polished door, which promptly slides open. Vale Ren meets his gaze from inside her room, sliding another pin into the braided bun atop her head.

“Is it time already, my Lord?” she asks, standing up. “Are we ready?”

They’re ready. They’ve  _been_ ready for years.

“Yes.”

*****

Rey wasn’t exactly expecting everything to go so well.

Even with the little…  _detour_ , they still managed to land relatively safely without putting any civilians in danger and make a… well, at least a  _decent_ first impression. And once they were properly greeted, it turned out that not only were Hava and Finn both natives, but that Finn was apparently the missing  _prince!_ _?_ Though, she supposes, it does explain quite a lot—the natural poise and leadership, the way he’s calmly discussing intergalactic politics with Her Majesty over cardamom tea and pistachio biscuits while she politely nods. It’s almost too perfect—a Skywalker and a long-lost royal crash-land onto a planet and still manage to charm everyone that matters.

Not bad at all.

“The exact number…” The queen hums, taking another sip of tea as warm sunlight shines in through the arched windows. “…I’ll see what we can spare. I’m afraid it may not be much, but we can try.”

“Please do,” says Finn, gently laying a hand over hers. “The Resistance needs all the help it can get—every little bit helps.”

She smiles serenely. “I’ll see what we can do, then,” she says, turning to grasp his hand properly. Finn doesn’t even try to contain the bright smile that blooms across his face.

And as he should, frankly. Rey isn’t going to lie and say that Finn getting to actually meet his mother while still alive and already start bonding with her doesn’t sting just a tiny bit—but there’s no point in being jealous, not when this is such a big deal for him. It’s really not his problem that her entire family’s dead except for the actual worst person alive.

At least one of them is happy.

“The First Order still has an army of around five hundred thousand,” says Hava as she furiously jots down notes—her cup left stubbornly untouched. “It’s not just your troops we need, it’s connections—”

“Admiral Dameron’s trying his best to reach out, but you’d probably know more, well, anyone who could help,” adds Rey, waving around her biscuit. Hava looks down.

Something rumbles at the back of Rey’s head.

“I shall definitely have to arrange for a few calls,” says the queen, setting her cup down. “If whatever action I take can help restore justice to the galaxy, then it should be my duty to act in such a manner.”

Something still rumbles at the back of Rey’s head.

“I…” Standing up, she pushes in her chair, forehead tense as she tries to fight back against her cousin. “Well, it’s been lovely meeting you, but I—” The rumble grows stronger. The queen frowns. “—I really have to go.” She turns into a sprint, feet stomping against the sandstone.

“ _Rey_ _—_ ”

“Good luck!” she shouts behind her shoulder as she leaves.

Kylo keeps on knocking as Rey runs outside, off the palace grounds, into the space of open city where she can  _breathe—_ actually try to stop him—somewhere that’s more discrete, not so blatantly Ileuma—

—and still, the bastard materializes in front of her very face.

_Shit._

Without thinking, she yells, swinging her fist into his face in a last-ditch attempt to clear him out. Her knuckles meet hard bone as he staggers back with a yell.

Oh,  _no_.

Hand flicking to her side, she turns to run back—

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rey struggles to turn her head against the strength of the force-hold her stupid nerf-herding Sith of a cousin has got her in.

“Go to hell,” she hisses.

“Whoa!” he says, holding up his hands. “A little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Not as harsh as your  _face_.” Rey doesn’t know why she’s being so childish—is that just what having relatives is like?—but frankly, she’s not stopping anytime soon. “It’s even worse up close, you know.”

“Still that creature in a mask to you, I see.”

“Oh, no,” she says, curling her upper lip, “now you’re that creature I’m unfortunately related to.”

“Unfortunate?” Kylo’s mouth curls up into that insufferable half-grin of his. Rey wants to punch him again. “We’re all that’s left of the Skywalker line, Reyna—”

“Don’t call me that,” she snaps, twitching as she keeps fighting against him. “You don’t—you left the damn family— _killed your damn father_ —and you have the  _nerve_ to talk about the Skywalker line?”

“Exactly,” he smarms smarmily. Rey  _really_ wants to punch him again. “Our line, Reyna—”  _Stupid_ _kriffing_ _nerf-herding heaping pile of_ _bantha_ _—_ “—has too long been polluted with these idealists like our parents. It’s high time we restore the legacy of our grandfather—”

“Who?” says Rey, rolling her eyes as she starts regaining sensation in her fingers— _yes._

Kylo looks as if she’s just asked him what color the sky was. “…our grandfather?” Rey shakes her head. “Darth Vader?”

Her eyes fly open. “Wait, I’m related to Darth Vader?”

He chuckles incredulously. “Yes?”

Rey ponders this for a moment. A Jedi, a princess, a smuggler, and now a Sith Lord, all within her family tree?

“Disgusting,” she concludes, flexing her fingers. “And it doesn’t matter anymore, he failed.”

“He brought the galaxy together!”

“He  _died,_ ” she shouts. “He’s dead. Gone.  _Irrelevant._ ” Her arm twitches. “At least your parents did something.”

“My parents?” he sneers. “I know you worship the very ground they walked upon, Reyna, but you’ve known them—what? How long? Two years? You try  _living_ with them for once,” he says, every word dripping with venom, “being the Rebel brat. See how you like it when mom and dad are too busy helping the galaxy to be around—”

“I’m sorry, your  _parents weren’t around?_ ” she yells, shaking her hand. “I was presumed dead by my own father, and  _how_ many planets have I blown up again?” Kylo’s smug grin falls. “Finn was kidnapped by the organization that  _you willingly joined_ —” This she punctuates with a pointed finger. “—and  _how_ many defenseless old men has he murdered in the past few years?” She scoffs. “It’s not anyone’s fault that you’re shallow and obsessed with our grandfather’s failures; you’re just awful.”

Screw it.

With a yell, Rey finally extracts herself from her cousin’s hold, hand curled in a fist—tightly wrapped around the hilt of a lightsaber. Twirling it, she catches it in her other hand, promptly igniting it.

“Impressive,” mutters Kylo as both ends erupt in a brilliant emerald green. “But if that’s how it must be—” He brings up his own jagged crimson, swinging down.

Rey’s there to meet him.

She swings, sending him tumbling—for a fraction. He’s back—she strikes. He parries with a grunt—prepares to swing again—

Rey steps forward as they go back and forth, breaking the silence with their grunts and the deadly hiss of their sabers. Red on green, green on red,  _bang_ _bang_ _bang_ _._ Blue sky, gold stone.

She’s going to kill him.

She  _has_ to.


	10. Everything That You Want is Already Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm after the calm.

Kaydel leans back in her seat, sighing.

Against the odds, they’ve managed to do it; all one hundred twenty-five thousand and ten newcomers have been settled in, all five hundred ships accounted for. And that’s just on base; parsecs away, they’ve been informed that Skywalker’s friend from the Civil War is en route, and that Finn’s newfound status seems to be aiding in negotiations. It’s just a start, but it’s a damn fine one.

To her right, Pamich is monitoring the soundscape, fielding calls from curious individuals (“Yes, we’re over two hundred thousand strong… we’ll make sure you get those coordinates soon, sir—”); to her right, the newly-appointed Black Leader is chatting with the rest of her squadron (“—trusting  _me_ with his precious astromech? He’s going soft or something…”). Behind her, Poe’s bent over the central table, discussing strategy with a few others (“If I may recommend Naboo, Master, they’ve always been quite the supporters—” “Already had them on my radar, Threep, and I  _told_ you to stop calling me that—”). The room is awash in orange, the radar screen in front of her calm. Kaydel lazily keeps an eye on it, noting nothing but debris and those pesky Star Destroyers, stuck in orbit with nowhere else to go.

It’s calm, until it isn’t.

Kaydel blinks as the screen hisses; several First Order ships pop out of hyperspace simultaneously—too far away to immediately land, but close enough to arouse suspicion.

She hits the alarm.

Immediately, the hubbub dies down.

Kaydel turns around to face the Admiral, whose face betrays no panic—yet. “Another cluster of assault landers and TIE fighters pulling out of hyperspace,” she says. Behind her, the hissing continues as more ships continue to arrive. “They’re not making any attempt to land.”

“Looks like someone got inspired,” he chuckles, as C-3PO gestures in what appears to be a celebratory gesture (“Oh, what a delight!”) and Captain Nina of the  _Aeolus_ frowns. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“Ours was the last wave,” she says, the corners of her lips drawn tight against her jaw. “We didn’t plan on anyone else following us.”

The orange lights flicker.

“Well, perhaps it wasn’t… part of  _your_ plan?” he says.

Nina shakes her head. “We would have known. The  _only_ reason we knew to come here was because Captain Hava fetched us the coordinates from the inside.”

Poe bites his lips. “Couldn’t that source have—”

“Absolutely not,” she says, eyes wide despite her calm voice. “The Order’s tightly monitoring all outside communication—have been since she left.” The screen hisses on. “She was the only one with a link to the Resistance.”

Pamich turns around, eyes narrowed. “No one’s establishing contact.” She adjusts her earpiece. “Signals are jammed.”

Something churns in Kaydel’s stomach.

“…what are their movements?” asks Poe, all enthusiasm drained from his face.

Kaydel turns around—only to find that they’re still not making any effort to land. In fact, they’re headed  _away_ from them.

That can’t possibly be—

“Hold on,” she says, holstering her blaster and moving from the control room. Marching outside, she’s greeted with the sight of thousands of TIEs swarming against the dusk sky; still, they’re distant, flying away from them, away towards… somewhere else.

Kaydel hates uncertainties.

As the last ray of sunshine slips under the horizon, she gets a call. “What is it?” she asks, heart hammering in her chest.

The next few words from the Admiral hold no room for uncertainty. “Distress call from Malvittus,” he says, and her heart drops. "The Republic’s under attack.”

*****

Rey swings erratically.

Misses.

Takes a step back, blocks her cousin’s strike. Swings again. Misses.

Kylo keeps advancing. She keeps moving back.

They’re far from the heart of the city now; below them, the river churns, smoothly flowing towards the palace with nothing but an old stone bridge standing in between them and drowning.

Rey’s heel catches on a loose cobble.

She falls back, the lightsaber turning off and tumbling from her hands—rolling away. Too far to grab; all that’s left is—

“ _Skywalker._ ”

Rey looks up in time to see Kylo snarl, focused on the other lightsaber in her hand. “I see you’ve made some changes,” he says, grasp tightening around the hilt of his still-ignited jagged red sword.

“It called to me,” she says, releasing it from her belt. “It’s mine.”

“It was mine  _first,_ ” he growls, and extends his left hand—immediately, the lightsaber in her hand starts to pull away.

Rey grunts, struggling to maintain a hold. “Shut up.”

“ _I_ was first.” Rey’s knuckles whiten. “ _You_  were never meant to come back.”

Sweat drips down her forehead. “Shut  _up._ ”

“Just because Skywalker abandoned you, doesn’t mean the family—”

“Skywalker’s my  _father,_ ” she hisses, pulling her wrist back. “You left.  _You left_ —you have  _no_ claim to my family!”

With a yell, she snaps her arm back, the struggle lost. Kylo staggers back, blinking.

“Well,” he says coldly, jaw tight. “If I can’t have it.”

He swings.

Rey howls as his blade slices across her lower arm; she collapses onto her side, trying desperately to grab onto something,  _anything,_ but all that’s left of her right hand is a searing throb and the stench of cooking flesh. Her hand’s gone; her father’s lightsaber, painfully rebuilt—lost with it.

Whimpering, she looks up from behind her shoulder, watches as Kylo advances with murder spelt all over his face. His eyes reflect a dangerous red; she never noticed how pale they’ve grown over the years.

She can't die like this.

With a yell, Rey extends her remaining arm—and Kylo goes flying back, dropping onto his back as his lightsaber hits the stone with a dull  _clunk._ Before he can stand back up, Rey’s flipped over and flung herself over the side of the bridge—into the flowing waters.

Flowing towards the palace.

Back in the little sitting room, Hava stiffens.

“Is everything alright, Captain?” asks the queen, setting down her cup of tea.

Hava shakes her head. “I just…” Her jaw trembles. “I don’t know, but I… I don’t feel good. Something feels…  _off_. I really don’t know how to say it, but—”

Something prickles at the back of Finn’s head.

Rey still hasn’t returned.

“…I have a bad feeling about this,” he whispers.

*****

Toris Ren surveys the planet in front of her.

For nearly ten years, she has been faithfully at Kylo Ren’s side; ever since their cleansing of the Jedi, she’s followed him, listened to his commands, went where she needed to go and struck when she needed to strike. It was all she was allowed; instead of the glorious position of power she had been promised, she was relegated to the shadows, watching as wave after wave of incompetent weakling who couldn’t even appreciate the nature of the Force took charge. But with the nature of Snoke’s death had come a shift; finally, just finally, she had been granted oversight of the Order’s future.

And today, its future is precisely what she plans on enforcing.

With a deadly hiss, her ship lands, and she marches out, electrostaff crackling at her side. The civilians standing in her path back off and clutch their children to their chests as she approaches with her troops; while the Knights may have done away with masks two years ago, she still prefers to keep her hood up as a warning.

One man doesn’t seem deterred. He stands in her path, balling his fists. “Your kind are not welcome here,” he hisses, glaring at where her eyes should be. “You cannot—”

Toris strikes at him. He falls to the ground with a shock, writhing on the ground. Just in case, she extends her palm, hitting him with a good dose of blindingly blue lightning for good measure.

This—this is what the Jedi will never understand. The power of subduing your enemy; the gratification of looking around and watching everyone’s face contort and confidence fall as one of their comrades lies screaming on the ground, begging for it to stop, oh, Force, please, I’m sorry, stop it, I’ll do anything, anything, anything; the sheer satisfaction of silence, of death. She could almost get drunk off her delight; it’s only human nature to wish to succeed at any cost, after all.

Toris keeps looking over the terrified crowds as she halts her assault upon the unconscious man. “Hand us your children, and there won’t be any need for a struggle,” she says. No one dares move a muscle.

They’re nothing but a bunch of selfless fools.

“Very well,” she says, raising her hand, knowing that planets away, other commanders are giving the exact same signal—ushering in a new beginning for the Order. “Do your worst.”

*****

This can’t be happening.

Finn’s on his knees, eyes fixed on the explosions in the sky, mind distracted by the sound of death, of destruction, of wailing children, of—of this—this—

“This can’t be happening.”

Not again.

He had just—Force, everything had seemed so—he had just reassured Poe everything would be just—

“Hava,” he chokes out. She’s standing up—she hasn’t moved in five minutes, steely gaze fixed upon the horizon. “Hava, they’re taking them, they’re—”

“I know damn well what they’re doing,” she snaps, not shifting her gaze.

Shaking, Finn gets to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Force, I’m—”

“Would you  _stop_ that?” she yells, slapping his hand away.

He blinks. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“That,” she says, hitting his shoulder. “You keep—I'm not some  _child,_ ok? I’m a damn Captain, and I don’t need to be  _coddled_ by anyone.”

“I was—” Finn squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to lose it. “I’m just trying to  _care._ ”

“I don’t need that!” she yells, leaning forward. “I’ve spent twenty years of my life doing nothing but  _lead, lead, lead_ —people looked  _up_ to me! And now all they do is  _pity,_ and  _care_ —” Her hands begin to shake violently. “—and I’m sick of it, ok!? Can you just calm down and let me be the fucking hero for once!?”

Her gaze snaps back to the horizon, where troops are advancing towards them.

“Hava, don’t do this,” he hisses, grabbing her wrist—reaction be damned. “You don’t have to save the day.”

“I  _do,_ ” she says hoarsely, looking back at him. Despite the determination in her face, her eyes are still full of tears. “I started this damn mess—I alone have to fix it.”

She snaps her wrist away.

“Hava, don't you _dare_ —”

“ _I alone have to fix it,_ ” she repeats, running away from him and drawing her blaster.

He can’t follow. Not when it’s them against an armored squadron—not when it’s certified suicide. But he can do his best, taking down a few immediate threats as Hava crusades on, blasts former ally after former ally square in the chest with a fierce cry.

And he can only watch as her blaster is knocked out, as the troops grab ahold of her, as she’s dragged kicking and screaming onto the transport.

He can only watch and repeat her name as the girl who fought so hard to escape the First Order leaves Ileuma alongside them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :^)


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